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THE ENGLISH POEMS OF GEORGE HERBERT. 
With frontispiece. Edited by George H. Palmer. 

INTlMATfONS OF IMMORTALITY IN THE SON- 
NETS OF SHAKSPERE. Ingersoll Lecture. 

THE PROBLEI\A OF FREEDOM. 

THE TEACHER AND OTHER ESSAYS AND AD- 
DRESSES ON EDUCATION. By George H. Palmer 
and Alice Freeman Palmer. 

THE LIFE OF ALICE FREEMAN PALMER. With 
Portraits and Views. New Edition. 

THE ENGLISH WORKS OF GEORGE HERBERT. 
Newly arranged and annotated, and considered in rela- 
tion to his life, by G. H. Padmer. Secofid Edition. In 
3 volumes. Illustrated. 

THE NATURE OF GOODNESS. 

THE FIELD OF ETHICS. 

THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. Books I-XII. The 
Text and an English Prose Version. 

THE ODYSSEY. Complete. An English Translation 

in Prose. 
THE ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES. Translated into 

English. With an Introduction. 

A SERVICE IN MEMORY OF ALJCE FREEMAN 
PALMER. Edited by George H. Palmer. With Ad- 
dresses by James B. Angell, Caroline Hazard, W. J. 
Tucker, and Charles W. Eliot. With Portraits. 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
Boston and New York 



THE ENGL "1 POEMS OF 
GEORGE HERBERT 



THE ENGLISH POEMS OF 

GEORGE HERBERT 

NEWLY ARRANGED IN RELATION TO 

HIS LIFE BY 

GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

(^he m\Mx0iiit pxt0? €ambnD0C 
1916 



^BOl 






COPYRIGHT 1905 AND I916, BY GEORGE HERBERT PALMER 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



JAN 24 I9IB 

©CU4204S1 



GENERAL PREFACE 

FOR poems so few as those of George Herbert, 
and of so intimate a nature, a small book is 
^^ fitting. I once gave them enormous bulk. Bear- 
ing Herbert's name and studying him for half a 
lifetime, in 1905 I devoted thirteen hundred pages 
to telling the world what I thought of him.^ A first 
volume contained all his English prose together 
with five long essays, discussing the circumstances 
of his life, his traits of character, the religious aims 
of his verse, its technical style, and a criticism of 
the two manuscripts which assure us of his text. 
A second volume held all his poems written before 
he took orders, and a third those after that long- 
deferred and climactic event. A new arrangement 
of the poems was the distinctive feature of my 
book. The traditional order was found by Nicho- 
las Ferrar in the manuscript bequeathed to him by 
Herbert, a manuscript now known as the Bodleian. 
Ferrar followed it in printing his first edition of 
1633, and up to 1905 its order was retained by all 
editors. In 1874, by a discovery of the late Dr. 
Grosart, a new and illuminating order became 
possible. He found in the Williams Library in Lon- 

^ The English Works of George Herbert. Newly Arranged and 
Annotated and Considered in Relation to his Life. By George 
Herbert Palmer. 3 vols. Second edition, revised. 1907. 
Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston. 



vi GENERAL PREFACE 

don a second manuscript, largely in Herbert's 
hand, containing half the poems but showing many 
variations from the Bodleian. In constructing his 
own text Dr. Grosart chose from the two manu- 
scripts whatever reading pleased his taste. In the 
fifth essay of my first volume I have presented the 
reasons which convince me that the Williams 
Manuscript antedates the Bodleian by about five 
years. It shows, therefore, the state of Herbert's 
verse before he went to Bemerton and thus for the 
first time supplies an instrument for sorting the 
poems. While it does not enable us precisely to 
date them, we can now part the scholar's writings 
from those of the priest, and in each of the two re- 
sulting divisions traces can be found of facts in the 
earlier and later life of Herbert. The poems I ac- 
cordingly arrange in twelve significant Groups, 
based partly on history, partly on subject-matter, 
and steadied throughout by manuscript authority, 
the reasons for each Group being stated in a brief 
Preface. By this simple means a chaotic mass of 
enigmatic verse is turned into a human docu- 
ment permeated with the life of a high-bred, hesi- 
tating, intellectual, and consecrated soul. 

But the elaborateness of that book brought me 
a certain discontent. It revealed the new Herbert 
to scholars but hid him from the general public, 
to whom also I wish him known. How suitably 
might the groping man of to-day sympathize 
with the conflicting moods of one who heard and 



GENERAL PREFACE vii 

veraciously recorded the calls of God, pleasure, 
choice society, high place, art, action, indolence! 
The double-mindedness of this stormy and intro- 
spective young man (cf . The Answer), too long mis- 
taken for an aged and passionless saint, fits him 
peculiarly for companionship with our uncertain 
generation. But most friends of the spirit speak 
from a pocket volume. My god-father shall have 
one which will allow him to appeal, in all his com- 
plexity, across the centuries to us. 

No English poems by Herbert were published 
during his life. That fact explains at once their 
difficulty and their worth. They are private and 
confessional writings, like the Portuguese Sonnets 
or those of Shakspere. They were composed for 
himself and not for the public, singularly truthful 
and artistic expressions of his many moods. In 
reading them one must imaginatively enter into 
Herbert's mind, while he takes no pains to ease the 
approach. For so independent a poet a comment- 
ing editor may do much. Desiring to make my early 
book a kind of encyclopaedia of Herbert, I printed 
there a poem on each right page and reserved the 
entire left for a series of notes. These notes, oc- 
cupying as much space as the text itself, cannot be 
reproduced here. But for their loss I offer a kind 
of compensation in the Prefaces to the twelve 
Groups, which will at least show the significance 
of the poems which follow. In them too, and in the 
Table of Dates, the development of Herbert's life 



X GENERAL PREFACE 

Herbert was about the first to perceive that poems 
should have soHd structure. He knew when to 
stop. He supplies his pieces with a beginning, 
middle, and end. No superfluity enters into their 
unified form. Herbert, in short, is a conscious 
artist; and before his time literary artistry was 
little sought or understood. The mastery of firm 
poetic form is one of the distinctive contributions 
made by him to English verse. 

A second is that to which I have already re- 
ferred, the development of the religious love-lyric. 
Common enough to-day is poetry which speaks the 
vicissitudes of the individual soul seeking to yield 
itself to its divine lover. But we forget that it was 
Herbert who set the pattern of such poetry. With 
what truthful freshness too and precision does he 
utter his fervors ! In his daring, picturesque, and 
condensed words we feel such power of the aphor- 
istic phrase as was had previously only by his 
friend Lord Bacon or by Shakspere himself. Re- 
ligious verse is seldom transparently sincere. The 
temptation is strong to say what is expected. But 
how convincingly, surprisingly, true are Herbert's 
lines ! To use the test by which Mill distinguished 
poetry from eloquence, we rather over-hear than 
hear him. Whoever will once work his way into 
acquaintance with this strange poet will find him a 
perpetual friend, endowed with noble speech, exact 
and unusual thought, and a heartfelt, if humanly 
wayward, allegiance to God's insistent call. 



DATES 

1593. Herbert born at Montgomery Castle. 

1597. Herbert's father dies and mother moves to 
Oxford. 

1603. James I King. Lady Herbert moves to Lon- 
don. 

1605. Herbert enters Westminster School. 

1609. Lady Herbert marries Sir John Dan vers. 

Herbert enters Trinity College, Cam- 
bridge. 

1610. Herbert's two sonnets to his mother. 
1612. Herbert takes B.A. Degree and publishes 

two Latin poems on death of Prince 
Henry. 

1616. Herbert takes M.A. and is appointed Major 
Fellow of Trinity. 

1619. Herbert appointed Public Orator at Cam- 
bridge. Publishes Latin poem on death 
of Queen Anne. 

1623. Herbert receives from King the sinecure 
Lay Rectorship of Whitford. Publishes 
Latin Oration on reception of Buckingham. 

1625. King James dies. Bacon dedicates to Her- 

bert certain psalms. 

1626. Herbert appointed Prebendary of Leighton 

in Lincolnshire. His Latin Poem on Ba- 
con's death. 



xii DATES 

1627. Herbert's mother dies. He resigns Orator- 

ship. His Latin Parentalia published. 

1628. WiUiams Manuscript of Herbert's Poems 

probably written about this time. 

1629. Herbert marries Jane Danvers. 

1630. Herbert takes priest's orders and the Parish 

of Bemerton, Wiltshire. 

1632. Herbert writes notes on Ferrar's translation 

of Valdesso's Considerations. 

1633. Death of Herbert at Bemerton. Ferrar 

publishes The Temple at Cambridge. 

1634. Cornaro's Treatise on Temperance^ trans- 

lated by Herbert; published. 

1652. Herbert's Remains, containing his Country 
Parson and J acuta Prudentum, published. 

1662. Herbert's early Latin poems, attacking An- 
drew Melville, published. 

1670. Izaak Walton's Life of Herbert, published. 



CONTENTS 

GROUP PAGE 

THE DEDICATION xv 

I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 1 

II. THE RESOLVE 37 

III. THE CHURCH 59 

IV. MEDITATION 109 
V. THE INNER LIFE 141 

VI. THE CRISIS 167 

VH. THE HAPPY PRIEST 211 

VHI. JBEMERTON STUDY 243 

IX. RESTLESSNESS 295 

X. SUFFERING 333 

XI. DEATH 371 

XII. ADDITIONAL AND DOUBTFUL 

POEMS 389 

INDEX OF TITLES 421 

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 423 



THE DEDICATION 

J^ORD, my first fruits present themselves to thee. 
Yet not mine neither; for from thee they came. 
And must return. Accept of them and me. 
And make us strive who shall sing best thy name. 

Turn their eyes hither who shall make a gain. 

Theirs who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain. 



I 

THE CHURCH-PORCH 



PREFACE 

THE Church-Porch bears much the same re- 
lation to Herbert's other poetry as the Jewish 
Wisdom books — Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Ecclesi- 
asticus, and Wisdom — bear to the Psalms and the 
Prophets. There is little religion in it, but shrewd 
knowledge of men, manners, and methods of win- 
ning eminence. It is a collection of wise saws and 
modern instances which speak of precedents and 
the best social usage. It is written by the friend of 
Bacon, by the university courtier, the collector of 
proverbs, the lover of a pregnant phrase. Its saga- 
city of thought and expression, though strongly 
marked by the temper of its time, has, like the 
Wisdom of the Jews, held well the esteem of after 
ages. Probably few parts of Herbert are less out- 
grown. 

Its theme determines its position. Propriety, 
beauty, good judgment, familiarity with the best 
customs, always of high importance in Herbert's 
eyes, are here set forth as the suitable introduction 
to religion, which itself lies beyond. This is the sig- 
nificance of the title, The Church-Porch. Good 
breeding opens the door of the Temple. Attention 
to the refinements of life teaches the youth how to 
behave himself in church. The results of Herbert's 



4 PREFACE TO 

secular experience, which he always professed was 
to prepare him for the priesthood, are here offered 
to the young reader as his best preparation for the 
spiritual fervors which follow. Purified of coarser 
faults by good taste, he may become accessible to 
the delicacies of divine love. 

To this work of purification the enigmatic word 
refers which follows the title. Perirrhanterium is 
the Greek term for a sprinkling instrument. At 
the entrance of the church stands a basin of holy 
water, placed there to remind the intending wor- 
shipper of his need of cleansing (Numbers viii, 7, 
and Hebrews x, 22). According to the warning in 
SuPERLiMiNARE, page 66, 1. 2, he is fit to enter the 
temple itself only after being properly sprinkled 
at the entrance. 

The style of The Church-Porch, no less than 
the spiritual conditions displayed in it, connects it 
with Herbert's earlier life. It contains no state- 
ment that its author is a priest, though he is deeply 
interested in the priest's work and office. As it is 
included in the WiUiams Manuscript, it must have 
been written before 1630. But how greatly its 
author valued it, and how steadily he labored on 
its improvement, is proved by the multitude of 
changes, great and slight, which were introduced 
during the Bemerton years. Few of Herbert's 
poems show so large a difference between their 
earlier and their later forms. 

The processes of alteration in The Church- 



THE CHURCH-PORCH 5 

Porch which went on durmg the last half-dozen 
years of Herbert's life are instructive as regards the 
original methods of its composition. Probably 
written piecemeal and not produced during any sin- 
gle year, it possesses little organic unity. Its many 
themes might be increased, diminished, or trans- 
posed without injury to the plan. Why should a 
single stanza on lying stand between considerable 
discussions of swearing and of idleness.? Why 
should the precepts on eating be parted from those 
on drinking ? Or stanzas so similar as the eleventh 
and fortieth be widely removed ? Or a single stanza 
on conversation be introduced between gambling 
and self-restraint, while the general discussion of 
the subject follows fourteen stanzas later.? Many 
such incongruities occur, a fact the more noticeable 
and the more likely to be connected with temporal 
causes because Herbert's artistic sense when exer- 
cised on a small scale usually secures great firmness 
of form. That The Church-Porch, however, 
does not altogether lack plan is remarked by G. 
Ryley, who quaintly writes: 

"With his Perirrhanterium Herbert takes care 
to sprinkle handfuls of advice to them that will 
go to church. These he throws out under four 
heads. 

(1) Ethics or personal duties, 1. 1-150. 

(2) (Economics or family duties, 1. 151-204. 

(3) Politics or Sociable Maxims, 1. 205-384. 

(4) La.stly he comes to scatter a handful or 



6 PREFACE TO 

two of Ecclesiastics or Church Duties, 1. 385- 
end." 1 

The piece begins with the ruder sins and ad- 
vances to the niceties of worship, the instructions 
about public worship being more coherent than any 
other part of the poem. These may have been 
written last, when Herbert's long interest in the 
priesthood was approaching a decision. In short, 
the style and texture of the poem indicate that it 
was begun early, that it grew by accretion rather 
than construction, and that it never in its author's 
mind was altogether finished. 

How early it was begun seems hinted in The 
Dedication. This solitary stanza stands to The 
Church-Porch in about the same relation as 
the Envoy to The Church Militant. While not 
exactly a part of the poem, the poem would be in- 
complete without it, and it v/ould be fragmentary 
without The Church-Porch. It is written to in- 
troduce something. And while what it introduces 
includes more than The Church-Porch, it is with 

1 This and many subsequent quotations are taken from 
a manuscript of four hundred pages, written by a certain 
George Ryley in 1714 and now in the Bodleian Library. 
Of Ryley's history nothing is known. His volume forms an 
elaborate commentary on Herbert's poems, in which they 
are all passed in review and expounded with reference to 
their religious import. Ryley's aims and my own are so 
divergent that I have been able to quote him less often 
than I should like, especially as I obtained a copy of his 
manuscript only after my notes were practically complete. 



THE CHURCH-PORCH 7 

this that The Dedication primarily joins itself, 
being identical with it in sententious metre. Ac- 
cordingly, though in the Bodleian Manuscript it is 
printed on the title-page, in Ferrar's Edition and 
in the Williams Manuscript it stands on a leaf by 
itself just before The Church-Porch, which it 
serves as a kind of antecedent stanza. When this 
connection is once recognized, its mention of first 
fruits becomes significant. 

In 1613 Herbert contributed two Latin poems to 
the Cambridge Elegies on the death of Prince 
Henry, and in 1619 a Latin poem to the Elegies on 
Queen Anne. His Angli Musae Responsoriae, 
or reply to Melville, had long been in circulation. In 
1623 he printed his Latin Oration on the return 
from Spain of Prince Charles and Buckingham. 
Would the phrase first fruits naturally have been 
used after so many publications ? It is clear 
(p. 45) that by 1610 Herbert had formed a resolu- 
tion to consecrate all his abilities in poetry to 
God's glory. Between this date and 1613 I think 
The Dedication was most probably drawn up, 
the metre of The Church-Porch selected, and the 
poem itself at least begun. The large amount of 
secular matter, the borrowed and regular measure, 
and the hortatory style — peculiarities absent from 
Herbert's other work — suggest an early date. 

A comparison of The Church-Porch with Her- 
bert's other long poems. The Church Militant 
and The Sacrifice, throws light on the character 



8 PREFACE TO 

of each and fixes the place of each in the collection. 
The Church Militant, in both manuscripts and 
in Ferrar's original edition, stands at the close, ap- 
pearing there almost as an independent work. The 
preceding poems are separated from it by the word 
Finis and a Gloria. In order not to break the con- 
tinuity of the lyric verse, I retain this late position 
of The Church Militant, though I believe it to 
be one of the very earliest of Herbert's poems. Sub- 
stantially also I keep the positions of the other two 
unchanged ; for dissimilar as is The Sacrifice 
from everything else Herbert wrote, it is not, like 
The Church Militant, a detachable piece. In 
its elaborate display of the forthgoing love of God 
and the averseness of man, it is plainly intended 
as the natural presupposition and starting-point 
of all the subsequent verse. I respect this inten- 
tion and keep its priority unchanged. To devise 
another position for The Church-Porch is obvi- 
ously impossible. 

It may not be fanciful, however, to find the dis- 
tinctive character of these three poems in their per- 
sonal pronouns. Each has one peculiar to itself. 
That of The Church Militant is the third, he or 
it; for this poem alone is descriptive and historical. 
The pronoun of The Sacrifice is Z, a word which 
gives color to nearly all of Herbert's verse, but has 
here a unique employment. It is used as the pro- 
noun of a monologue, of Herbert's single attempt 
at sustained dramatic speech. The pronoun of 



THE CHURCH-PORCH 9 

The Church-Porch is announced in its first word, 
Thou, this being the only occasion on which Her- 
bert attempts a piece of instruction. Charims and 
Knots and Constancie are similar in substance, 
but the form of direct address is not employed. 
Thou appears not infrequently in Herbert's other 
poems. But elsewhere it marks the address of the 
writer to himself or to God. It is a part of that 
inner communion so characteristic of The Tem- 
ple, an appeal to the worser self by the better, 
and not, as in the case of The Church-Porch, 
an exhortation addressed to some one stand- 
ing by. 

The metre of The Church-Porch is the same as 
that used in Sinnes Round, page 283, and, with a 
peculiar adaptation of the final line, in The Water- 
course, page 284. The metre was a favorite one 
in Herbert's time. It had already been employed 
by Sidney in some of the songs of his Arcadia; 
by Spenser in Astrophel, The Ruines of Time, and 
in two sections of The Shepherd's Calendar ; by 
Shakespeare in Venus and iVdonis ; and more fre- 
quently than any other metre by Southwell. It 
appears also in Breton, Lord Brooke, Campion, 
Donne, Drummond, Lord Herbert, Overbury, 
Quarles, and Wither. It generally serves these 
writers as a metre of instruction. 



10 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 



THE CHURCH-PORCH 



PERIRRHANTERIUM 



Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes inhance 
Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure. 

Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance 

Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure. 

A verse may finde him who a sermon flies, 5 

And turn delight into a sacrifice. 

II 

Beware of lust : it doth pollute and foul 

Whom God in Baptisme washt with his own 
blood. 
It blots thy lesson written in thy soul; 

The holy lines cannot be understood. 10 

How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, 
Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all their 
book? 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH n 

III 

Abstain wholly, or wed. Thy bounteous Lord 
Allows thee choise of paths. Take no by-wayes. 

But gladly welcome what he doth afford; 15 

Not grudging that thy lust hath bounds and 
staies. 

Continence hath his joy. Weigh both; and so 

K rottennesse have more, let Heaven go. 

IV 

If God had laid all common, certainly 

Man would have been th' incloser ; but since 
now 
God hath impal'd us, on the contrarie 21 

Man breaks the fence and every ground will 
plough. 
O what were man might he himself misplace ! 
Sure, to be crosse, he would shift feet and face. 

V 

Drink not the third glasse, which thou canst not 
tame 25 

When once it is within thee; but before, 
Mayst rule it as thou list and poure the shame, 

Which it would poure on thee, upon the floore. 
It is most just to throw that on the ground 29 

Which would throw me there, if I keep the round. 



12 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

VI 

He that is drunken may his mother kill, 

Bigge with his sister. He hath lost the reins, 

Is outlawd by himself. All kinde of ill 

Did with his liquour slide into his veins. 34 

The drunkard forfets Man, and doth devest 

All worldly right save what he hath by beast. 

VII 

Shall I, to please another's wine-sprung minde, 
Lose all mine own? God hath giv'n me a 
measure 

Short of his canne and bodie. Must I finde 39 
A pain in that wherein he findes a pleasure ? 

Stay at the third glasse. If thou lose thy hold, 

Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold. 

VIII 

If reason move not Gallants, quit the room, 
(All in a shipwrack shift their severall way,) 

Let not a common ruine thee intombe. 45 

Be not a beast in courtesie. But stay. 

Stay at the third cup, or forego the place. 

Wine above all tilings doth God's stamp deface. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 13 

IX 

Yet if thou sinne in wine or wantonnesse, 

Boast not thereof nor make thy shame thy glorie. 

Frailtie gets pardon by submissivenesse ; 51 

But he that boasts shuts that out of his storie. 

He makes flat warre with God, and doth defie 

With his poore clod of earth the spacious sky. 



Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain : 
It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse. 56 

Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain: 
But the cheap swearer through his open since 

Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing. 

Were I an Epicure, I could bate swearing. 60 

XI 

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein 
Omit the oathes, which true wit cannot need. 

Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sinne. 
He pares his apple that will cleanly feed. 

Play not away the vertue of that name 65 

Which is thy best stake when griefs make thee tame. 



14 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XII 

The cheapest sinnes most dearely punisht are. 
Because to shun them also is so cheap; 

For we have wit to mark them, and to spare. 
O crumble not away thy soul's fair heap. 70 

If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad; 

Pride and full sinnes have made the way a road. 

XIII 

Lie not; but let thy heart be true to God, 
Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both. 

Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; 75 
The stormie working soul spits lies and froth. 

Dare to be true. Nothing can need a ly. 

A fault which needs it most grows two thereby. 

XIV 

Flie idlenesse; which yet thou canst not flie 

By dressing, mistressing, and complement. 80 

If those take up thy day, the sunne will crie 
Against thee; for his light was onely lent. 

God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those 
feathers 

Into a bed, to sleep out all ill weathers. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 15 

XV 

Art thou a Magistrate ? Then be severe. 85 

If studious, copie fair what time hath blurr'd; 

Redeem truth from his jawes. If souldier. 

Chase brave employments with a naked sword 

Throughout the world. Fool not: for all may 
have. 

If they dare try, a glorious life or grave. 90 

XVI 

O England! full of sinne, but most of sloth, 
Spit out thy flegme and fill thy brest with 
glorie. 

Thy Gentrie bleats, as if thy native cloth 
Transfus'd a sheepishnesse into thy storie. 

Not that they all are so; but that the most 95 

Are gone to grasse and in the pasture lost. 

XVII 

This losse springs chiefly from our education. 

Some till their ground, but let weeds choke their 
Sonne; 
Some mark a partridge, never their childe 's fashion ; 

Some ship them over, and the thing is done. 
Studie this art, make it thy great designe; 101 
And if God's image move thee not, let thine. 



16 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XVIII 

Some great estates provide, but doe not breed 
A mast'ring minde; so both are lost thereby. 

Or els they breed them tender, make them need 
All that they leave; this is flat povertie. 106 

For he that needs five thousand pound to live 

Is full as poore as he that needs but five. 

XIX 

The way to make thy sonne rich is to fill 109 
His minde with rest before his trunk with riches. 

For wealth without contentment climbes a hill 
To feel those tempests which fly over ditches. 

But if thy sonne can make ten pound his measure, 

Then all thou addest may be call'd his treasure. 

XX 

When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power,) 
Be sure to doe it, though it be but small. 116 

Constancie knits the bones and makes us stowre 
When wanton pleasures becken us to thrall. 

Who breaks his own bond forfeiteth himself. 

What nature made a ship he makes a shelf. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 17 



XXI 

Doe all things like a man, not sneakingly. 121 
Think the king sees thee still; for his King 
does. 

Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie : 

Give it a corner, and the clue undoes. 

Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task; 125 

Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask. 

XXII 

Look to thy mouth; diseases enter there. 

Thou hast two sconses if thy stomack call: 
Carve, or discourse. Do not a famine fear. 129 

Who carves, is kind to two; who talks, to all. 
Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit; 
And say withall, Earth to earth I commit. 



18 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XXIII 

Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths, 
Thou liv'st by rule. What doth not so but man ? 

Houses are built by rule, and common- wealths. 
Entice the trusty sunne, if that you can, 136 

From his Ecliptick line; becken the skie. 

Who lives by rule, then, keeps good companie. 

XXIV 

Who keeps no guard upon himself is slack. 
And rots to nothing at the next great thaw. 

Man is a shop of rules, a well truss'd pack, 141 
Whose every parcell under-writes a law. 

Lose not thy self, nor give thy humours way; 

God gave them to thee under lock and key. 

:\/ XXV 

By all means use sometimes to be alone. 145 

Salute thy self, see what thy soul doth wear. 
Dare to look in thy chest, for 't is thine own. 
And tumble up and down what thou find*st 
there. 
Who cannot rest till hee good fellows finde. 
He breaks up house, turns out of doores his 
minde. 150 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 19 

XXVI 

Be thriftie, but not covetous; therefore give 
Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his 
due. 

Never was scraper brave man. Get to Kve; 
Then Hve, and use it. Els, it is not true 

That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone 155 

Makes money not a contemptible stone. 

XXVII 

Never exceed thy income. Youth may make 
Ev'n with the yeare; but age, if it will hit, 

Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake 
As the day lessens, and his life with it. 160 

Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call; 

Before thy journey fairly part with all. 

XXVIII 

Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil; 
Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee 
dimme 164 

To all things els. Wealth is the conjurer's devil ; 
Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath 
him. 
Gold thou mayst safely touch; but if it stick 
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick. 



20 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XXIX 

What skills it if a bag of stones or gold 169 

About thy neck do drown thee ? Raise thy head, 

Take starres for money; starres not to be told 
By any art, yet to be purchased. 

None is so wastefull as the scraping dame. 

She loseth three for one: her soul, rest, fame. 

XXX 

By no means runne in debt. Take thine own mea- 
sure. 175 

Who cannot live on twentie pound a yeare 
Cannot on fourtie; he's a man of pleasure, 

A kinde of thing that's for it self too deare. 
The curious unthrift makes his cloth too wide. 
And spares himself, but would his taylor chide. 

XXXI 

Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading clothes 
Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail, 

Would have their tale beleeved for their oathes. 
And are hke empty vessels under sail. 184 

Old courtiers know this ; therefore set out so 

As all the day thou mayst hold out to go. 



L THE CHURCH-PORCH 21 



xxxn 

In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bear the 
bell. 
Wisedome's a trimmer thing then shop e're 
gave. 
Say not then, This with that lace will do well; 

But, This with my discretion will be brave. 
Much curiousnesse is a perpetuall wooing, 191 
Nothing with labour, folly long a doing. 

XXXIII 

Play not for gain, but sport. Who playes for more 
Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his 
heart ; 
Perhaps his wive's too, and whom she hath bore; 

Servants and churches also play their part. 196 
Onely a herauld, who that way doth passe, 
Findes liis crackt name at length in the church- 
glasse. 



22 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XXXIV 

If yet thou love game at so deere a rate, 199 

Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost: 

Dost lose ? Rise up. Dost winne ? Rise in that 
state. 
Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost. 

Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace 

Blowing up houses with their whole increase. 

XXXV 

In conversation boldnesse now bears sway. 205 
But know that nothing can so foolish be 

As empty boldnesse. Therefore first assay 
To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie, 

Then march on gallant. Get substantiall worth. 

Boldnesse guilds finely and will set it forth. 

XXXVI 

Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre? 211 
Then keep such companie, make them thy allay. 

Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre. 
A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way. 

Command thy self in chief. He life's warre 
knows 215 

Whom all his passions follow as he goes. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 23 

XXXVII 

Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak 
Plainly and home is coward of the two. 218 

Think not thy fame at ev'ry twitch will break. 
By great deeds shew that thou canst little do, 

And do them not. That shall thy wisdome be, 

And change thy temperance into braverie. 

XXXVIII 

If that thy fame with ev'ry toy be pos'd, 

'T is a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies 
make. 224 

But the great souldier's honour was compos'd 
Of thicker stuffe, which would endure a shake. 

Wisdome picks friends; civilitie playes the rest. 

A toy shunn'd cleanly passeth with the best. 

XXXIX 

Laugh not too much. The wittie man laughs least ; 

For wit is newes onely to ignorance. 230 

Lesse at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest 

Thy person share, and the conceit advance. 
Make not thy sport, abuses; for the fly 
That feeds on dung is coloured thereby. 



24 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH. 

XL 

Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground, 
Profanenesse, filthinesse, abusivenesse. 236 

These are the scumme with which course wits 
abound. 
The fine may spare these well, yet not go lesse. 

All things are bigge with jest ; nothing that's plain 

But may be wittie if thou hast the vein. 240 

XLI 

Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking 

Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer. 

Hast thou the knack ? Pamper it not with liking ; 
But if thou want it, buy it not too deere. 

Many, affecting wit beyond their power, 245 

Have got to be a deare fool for an houre. 

XLII 

A sad wise valour is the brave complexion 

That leads the van and swallows up the cities. 

The gigler is a milk-maid, whom infection 

Or a fir'd beacon frighteth from his ditties. 250 

Then he's the sport; the mirth then in him rests. 

And the sad man is cock of all his jests. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 25 



XLIII 

Towards great persons use respective boldnesse. 

That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth 
take 
Nothing from thine. In service, care or coldnesse 

Doth ratably thy fortunes marre or make. 256 
Feed no man in his sinnes; for adulation 
Doth make thee parcell-devil in damnation. 

XLIV 

Envie not greatnesse; for thou mak'st thereby 
Thy self the worse, and so the distance greater. 

Be not thine own worm. Yet such jealousie 261 
As hurts not others, but may make thee better, 

Is a good spurre. Correct thy passions' spite; 

Then may the beasts draw thee to happy light. 



26 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

XLV 

When basenesse is exalted, do not bate 265 

The place its honour for the person's sake. 

The shrine is that which thou dost venerate, 
And not the beast that bears it on his back. 

I care not though the cloth of state should be 

Not of rich arras, but mean tapestrie. 270 

XLVI 

Thy friend put in thy bosome; wear his eies 
Still in thy heart that he may see what's there. 

If cause require, thou art his sacrifice; 

Thy drops of bloud must pay down all his fear. 

But love is lost, the way of friendship's gone, 

Though David had his Jonathariy Christ his 
John. 276 

XL VII 

Yet be not surety if thou be a father. 

Love is a personall debt. I cannot give 
My children's right, nor ought he take it. Rather 

Both friends should die then hinder them to live. 
Fathers first enter bonds to nature's ends, 281 
And are her sureties ere they are a friend's. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 27 

XL VIII 

If thou be single, all thy goods and ground 
Submit to love; but yet not more then all. 

Give one estate, as one life. None is bound 285 
To work for two, who brought himself to thrall. 

God made me one man; love makes me no more, 

Till labour come and make my weaknesse score. 

XLIX 

In thy discourse, if thou desire to please, 
All such is courteous, useful!, new, or wittie. 

Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease, 291 
Courtesie grows in court, news in the citie. 

Get a good stock of these, then draw the card 

That suites him best of whom thy speech is 
heard. 



Entice all neatly to what they know Lest; 295 
For so thou dost thy self and him a pleasure. 

But a proud ignorance will lose his rest 

Rather then shew his cards. Steal from his trea- 
sure 

What to ask further. Doubts well rais'd do lock 

The speaker to thee and preserve thy stock. 300 



28 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

LI 

If thou be Master-gunner, spend not all 

That thou canst speak at once; but husband it, 

And give men turns of speech. Do not forestall 
By lavishnesse thine own and others' wit. 

As if thou mad'st thy will. A civil guest 305 

Will no more talk all, then eat all, the feast. 

LII 

Be calm in arguing; for fiercenesse makes 
Errour a fault, and truth discourtesie. 

Why should I feel another man's mistakes 

More then his sicknesses or povertie "^ 310 

In love I should; but anger is not love, 

Nor wisdome neither. Therefore gently move. 

LIII 

Calmnesse is great advantage. He that lets 
Another chafe may warm him at his fire, 

Mark all his wandrings, and enjoy his frets; 315 
As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire. 

Truth dwels not in the clouds; the bow that's 
there 

Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 29 

LIV 

Mark what another sayes; for many are 319 

Full of themselves and answer their own notion. 

Take all into thee; then with equall care 

Ballance each dramme of reason, like a potion. 

If truth be with thy friend, be with them both ; 

Share in the conquest and confesse a troth. 

LV 

Be usefuU where thou livest, that they may 325 
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. 

Kindnesse, good parts, great places are the way 
To compasse this. Finde out men's wants and 
will, 

And meet them there. All worldly joyes go lesse 

To the one joy of doing kindnesses. 330 

LVI 

Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; 

So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be. 
Sink not in spirit. Who aimeth at the sky 

Shoots higher much then he that means a tree. 
A grain of glorie mixt with humblenesse 335 

Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse. 



30 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

LVII 

Let thy minde still be bent still plotting where, 
And when, and how the businesse may be done. 

Slacknesse breeds worms; but the sure traveller. 
Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on. 

Active and stirring spirits live alone. 341 

Write on the others. Here lies such a one. 

LVIII 

Slight not the smallest losse, whether it be 
In love or honour, take account of all. 

Shine like the sunne in every corner. See 345 
Whether thy stock of credit swell or fall. 

Who say, I care not, those I give for lost; 

And to instruct them, 't will not quit the cost. 

LIX 

Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree; 

(Love is a present for a mightie king) 350 

Much lesse make any one thine enemie. 

As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling. 
The cunning workman never doth refuse 
The meanest tool that he may chance to use. 



I, THE CHURGH-PORCH 31 

LX 

All forrain wisdome doth amount to this, 355 

To take all that is given: whether wealth, 

Or love, or language; nothing comes amisse. 
A good digestion turneth all to health. 

And then as farre as fair behaviour may, 

Strike off all scores ; none are so cleare as they. 

LXI 

Keep all thy native good and naturalize 361 

All forrain of that name, but scorn their ill: 

Embrace their activenesse, not vanities. 
Who follows all things forfeiteth his will. 

If thou observest strangers in each fit, 365 

In time they'l runne thee out of all thy wit. 

LXII 

Affect in things about thee cleanlinesse, 

That all may gladly board thee, as a flowre. 

Slovens take up their stock of noisomnesse 369 
Beforehand, and anticipate their last houre. 

Let thy minde's sweetnesse have his operation 

Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation. 



32 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

LXIII 

In Almes regard thy means and others' merit. 

Think heav'n a better bargain then to give 
Onely thy single market-money for it. 375 

Joyn hands with God to make a man to Hve. 
Give to all something; to a good poore man. 
Till thou change names and be where he began. 

LXIV 

Man is God*s image, but a poore man is 379 

Christ's stamp to boot; both images regard. 

God reckons for him, counts the favour his. 
Write, So much giv'n to God; thou shalt be 
heard. 

Let thy almes go before and keep heav'n's gate 

Open for thee, or both may come too late. 

LXV 

Restore to God his due in tithe and time. 385 
A tithe purloin'd cankers the whole estate. 

Sundaies observe : think when the bells do chime, 
'T is angels' musick; therefore come not late. 

God then deals blessings. If a king did so, 

Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show ? 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 33 

LXVI 

Twice on the day his due is understood; 391 

For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee. 

Thy cheere is mended; bate not of the food 
Because 't is better, and perhaps may save thee. 

Thwart not th' Almighty God. O be not crosse! 

Fast when thou wilt ; but then 't is gain, not 
losse. 396 

LXVII 

Though private prayer be a brave designe, 
Yet publick hath more promises, more love; 

And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe. 
We all are but cold suitours; let us move 400 

Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven; 

Pray with the most : for where most pray is 
heaven. 

LXVIII 

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. 
God is more there then thou : for thou art 
there 
Onely by his permission. Then beware, 405 

And make thy self all reverence and fear. 
Kneeling ne're spoil'd silk stocking. Quit thy 

state. 
All equall are within the churches gate. 



34 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

LXIX 

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: 409 

Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest, 

Stay not for th' other pin. Why thou hast lost 
A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest 

Away thy blessings, and extreamly flout thee ; 

Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about 
thee. 

LXX 

In time of service seal up both thine eies, 415 
And send them to thine heart; that spying 
sinne. 
They may weep out the stains by them did rise. 
Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes 
in. 
Who marks in church-time others' symmetric, 
Makes all their beautie his deformitie. 420 

LXXI 

Let vain or busie thoughts have there no part: 
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures 
thither. 
Christ purg'd his temple; so must thou thy heart. 
All worldly thoughts are but theeves met to- 
gether 
To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well: 425 
For churches are either our heav'n or hell. 



I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 35 

LXXII 

Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge. 

If thou mishke him, thou conceiv'st him not. 
God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge 

To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. 
The worst speak something good ; if all want 
sense, 431 

God takes a text and preacheth patience. 

LXXIII 

He that gets patience, and the blessing which 
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his 
pains. 434 

He that by being at church escapes the ditch, 

Which he might fall in by companions, gains. 
He that loves God's abode, and to combine 
With saints on earth, shall one day with them 
shine. 

LXXIV 

Jest not at preachers' language or expression. 

How know'st thou but thy sinnes made him 
miscarrie ? 440 

Then turn thy faults and his into confession. 

God sent him, whatsoe're he be. O tarry. 
And love him for his Master. His condition. 
Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician. 



36 I. THE CHURCH-PORCH 

LXXV 

None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure, 445 
As those who mock at God's way of salvation. 

Whom oil and balsames kill, what salve can cure ? 
They drink with greedinesse a full damnation. 

The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly. 449 

Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy.^ 

LXXVI 

Summe up at night what thou hast done by day; 

And in the morning, what thou hast to do. 
Dresse and undresse thy soul: mark the decay 

And growth of it; if with thy watch, that too 
Be down, then winde up both. Since we shall be 
Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree. 

LXXVII 

In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man. 

Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. 
Deferre not the least vertue. Life's poore span 

Make not an ell by trifling in thy wo. 460 

If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains: 
If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains. 



II 

THE RESOLVE 



•i 



PREFACE 

THE poems of this fundamental Group an- 
nounce the resolve of Herbert to become a 
poet, and state certain ends which he desires his 
poetry to accomplish. He will antagonize the love- 
poets of his day, employing against them, however, 
all their own vigorous intellectuality, passionate 
enthusiasm, and technical resource. All poetry 
has the single theme of love, but hitherto poets 
have misconceived it. They belittle love by far- 
celling it out, erroneously confining it to the petty 
relations of men and women. It shall be Her- 
bert's task to set it forth in its native fulness, and 
to reveal it as a world-principle, working on an 
infinite scale and drawing together God and man. 
The conception of love here advocated is sub- 
stantially that set forth by Plato in his Lysis, 
Phaedrus, and Symposium. Adopted by the Neo- 
Platonists, it influenced through them many of 
the Church Fathers. During the Renaissance it 
gained a wider currency through Ficinus* Latin 
translations of Plato, through his commentary on 
Plato's Symposium, and especially through its elo- 
quent presentation in the fourth Book of Castigli- 
one's Courtier. French poetry became affected by 
it. The group of writers who gathered about Sir 



40 PREFACE TO 

Philip Sidney, and who looked to France and Italy 
for inspiration, took it up. Spenser, employing it 
to some extent in The Faerie Queene, gave it 
magnificent expression in his Hymns in Honour 
of Love and Beauty. During the first half of the 
seventeenth century Platonism through all its teach- 
ings entered profoundly into English thought. At 
the University, just after Herbert's time, there was 
formed a considerable group of Cambridge Plato- 
nists, of whom Henry More and Ralph Cudworth 
are the best known. One of the later members of 
this company, and a successor of Herbert in the 
Bemerton Rectory, John Norris, in his Essay on 
I^ove and his translation of Waring' s Picture of 
Love, gave in beautiful English prose an elaborate 
exposition of Platonic love. A copy of this latter 
book (4th edition, 1744) is in my possession which 
once belonged to R. W. Emerson, and was given 
by him to a philosophic friend. It may be, there- 
fore, that Emerson's Essay on Love, one of the 
best modern statements of the Platonic doctrine, 
received contributions from Bemerton itself. 

In brief, Plato taught that love is our passion for 
unity, for wholeness. As Love inspires our search, 
so does Beauty make known its end. For wher- 
ever in nature we catch glimpses of harmonious 
adjustment, the wholeness there suggested affects 
us as beautiful and prompts us to approach. 
Following the clue of Beauty, then, we may say 
that Love directs every rational life. Originally 



THE RESOLVE 41 

one with God, with the universe, and with one 
another, we find ourselves now in the present 
world detached and fragmentary. Feehng this 
fragmentariness, as the wise unceasingly do, we 
are horror-stricken and lonely. We long for sup- 
plementation. We turn to the objects around us, 
and especially to one another, to obtain that whole- 
ness which we feel ourselves to lack. To our eyes 
those we love are always beautiful, and we are 
restlessly eager to join them. Yet such lesser unions 
continually bring disappointment and a new sense 
of incompleteness. Their little wholenesses are, 
after all, but fragmentary, their function being to 
disclose the necessity of the one ultimate and only 
adequate wholeness. In reality there can be but 
one, that which is found in union with Goodness, 
God, the Ideal, Heavenly Beauty, that Love which 
is the authour of this great frame. Truly to love is 
to look through all else to Him. 

We must, then, clear away the special conditions 
under which Love first appears, if we would rise to 
a knowledge of its nature. " The eye of Love," says 
Emerson in one of his letters, " falls on some mortal 
form, but it rests not a moment there. As every 
leaf represents to us all vegetable nature, so Love 
looks through that spotted blighted form to the 
vast spiritual element of which it was created and 
which it represents." When Love is true to itself 
as the passion for perfection, it continually super- 
sedes its lower forms in the interest of what is 



/ 



42 PREFACE TO 

larger. None of these inferior forms is so obscuring, 
so little regardful of anything beyond itself, as that 
instinctive passion between the sexes which tries 
to monopolize the name of Love. Friendship is 
more intelligent. Unities of a still wider and firmer 
kind are disclosed in the social, artistic, and scien- 
tific impulses. These are all prompted by Love 
and follow increasing grades of Beauty. Religion, 
however, alone reveals the full significance of these 
struggles toward conjunction ; for God is the only 
complete wholeness, and every endeavor to unite 
with other things or persons is but a blind seeking 
after Him. 

Plato's doctrine of love has many aspects, which 
variously influenced other English poets. I de- 
velop here only that quantitative presentation of it 
which peculiarly appealed to Herbert's practical 
and non-mystical mind. In this Group of poems he 
applies the doctrine as he understands it, resolving 
to devote himself to abolishing love's blindness. 
Like all poets he will sing of love, but not of that 
fettering attachment to particular persons which 
is miscalled by its great name. Even in his two 
youthful sonnets he has discovered the emptiness 
and necessary artificiality of this. The theme of 
all his verse shall be the striving of the soul after 
union with God, who is conceived as a definite 
detached person hostile to subordinate manifesta- 
tions of himself. This all-excluding devotion to 
God Herbert carefully expounds in the two sonnets 



THE RESOLVE 43 

on Love; defends it against the love-poets in the 
first Jordan; in the second Jordan sees that his 
own exuberant disposition exposes him to the very 
errors he is fighting; calls for divine aid in Praise; 
acknowledges in The Quidditie how little he can 
effect ; encourages himself in The Elixer by 
recalling Love's transforming power; in Employ- 
ment guards against sluggishness ; and in Anti- 
PHON joins with men and angels in adoration. In 
this Group of poems we have, therefore, the an- 
nouncement of a poetical programme. How long 
it remained near Herbert's heart may be read later 
in DuLNEssE, The Forerunners, Life, and 
The Flower; where, feeling death approach, he 
reviews his campaign against the love-poets and 
mourns that his beautiful weapons must be laid 
aside. 

Similar protests against the tendency of poetry 
to find love in sexual conditions rather than in 
rational or divine are not uncommon in the 
Jacobean poetry, and even in the later Eliza- 
bethan. Spenser himself had uttered them in the 
Preface to his Hymns in Honour of Heavenly Love 
and Beauty. So had Herbert's special master, 
Donne, in his Divine Sonnets and elsewhere. Just 
after Herbert's death, and partly through his influ- 
ence, Platonic love became so fashionable as itself 
to awaken protest. Herbert, then, cannot be called 
the first to set heavenly love in contrast to earthly. 
He merely treated the antagonism with peculiar 



44 PREFACE 

precision and persistency, gave it the special turn 
which gained acceptance, and used it as did no 
other poet to inform the total body of his work. 

It may be interesting to notice how different a 
conclusion a grave and passionate poet of recent 
years, Coventry Patmore, has drawn from the 
same Platonic premises. All Patmore' s poetry, 
like that of Herbert, is a study of love. Love, too, 
in his view is not many but one, human loves being 
partial embodiments of a single divine principle. 
But while Herbert rejects the human loves as par- 
tial, Patmore, just because they are small embodi- 
ments, reverences them as our appointed means of 
approaching God. If, then, we call the tendency of 
Herbert Abstract Monotheism, because it sets in 
sharp and antagonistic contrast infinite and finite 
love, we might name that of Patmore a kind of 
Henotheism; since it finds a particular finite object 
needful if we would apprehend the universally 
divine. From the extreme and desolating conse- 
quences of his doctrine Herbert is saved by his 
rich Elizabethan temperament. 



n. THE RESOLVE 45 



TWO SONNETS 
TO HIS MOTHER 

I [1610] 

My God, where is that antient heat towards thee 
Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did 

burn, 
Besides their other flames ? Doth Poetry 
Wear Venus' livery, only serve her turn ? 4 

Why are not Sonnets made of thee, and layes 
Upon thine Altar burnt ? Cannot thy love 
Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise 
As well as any she ? Cannot thy Dove 
Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight ? 9 

Or, since thy ways are deep and still the same, 
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name ? 
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might 
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose 
Than that which one day Worms may chance 
refuse ? 



46 II. THE RESOLVE 



II 

Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry 15 
Oceans of Ink; for as the Deluge did 
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty; 

Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid 

Poets to turn it to another use. 

Roses and Lilies speak thee; and to make 20 
A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse. 

Why should I Women's eyes for Chrystal take ? 

Such poor invention burns in their low mind 
Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go 
To praise, and on thee, Lord, some ink bestow. 

Open the bones, and you shall nothing find 26 
In the best face but filth ; when Lord, in Thee 
The beauty lies in the discovery. 



n. THE RESOLVE 47 



LOVE 



Immortall Love, authour of this great frame. 
Sprung from that beautie which can never fade, 
Hov» hath man parcel'd out thy glorious name 

And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made. 

While mortall love doth all the title gain ! 5 

Which siding with invention, they together 
Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain, 

(Thy workmanship) and give thee share in neither. 

Wit fancies beautie, beautie raiseth wit. 

The world is theirs ; they two play out the game. 

Thou standing by. And though thy glorious 

name 11 

Wrought our deliverance from th' infernall pit, 
Who sings thy praise ? Onely a skarf or glove 
Doth warm our hands and make them write of 
love. 



48 II. THE RESOLVE 



II 

Immortall Heat, O let thy greater flame 15 

Attract the lesser to it ! Let those fires. 
Which shall consume the world, first make it 
tame, 
And kindle in our hearts such true desires 
As may consume our lusts and make thee way. 
Then shall our hearts pant thee ; then shall our 
brain 20 

All her invention on thine Altar lay. 
And there in hymnes send back thy fire again. 
Our eies shall see thee, which before saw dust, 
Dust blown by wit till that they both were 

blinde. 
Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde, 25 
Who wert disseized by usurping lust. 

All knees shall bow to thee ; all wit shall rise 
And praise him who did make and mend our 
eies. 



II. THE RESOLVE 49 



JORDAN 

Who sayes that fictions onely and false hair 
Become a verse ? Is there in truth no beautie ? 

Is all good structure in a winding stair ? 

May no lines passe except they do their dutie 

Not to a true, but painted chair ? 5 

Is it no verse except enchanted groves 

And sudden arbours shadow course-spunne 
lines ? 

Must purling streams refresh a lover's loves ? 
Must all be vail'd, while he that reades divines, 

Catching the sense at two removes ? 10 

Shepherds are honest people; let them sing, 
Riddle who list for me, and pull for Prime. 

I en vie no man's nightingale or spring; 

Nor let them punish me with losse of ryme, 

Who plainly say, My God, My King, 15 



50 II. THE RESOLVE 



JORDAN 



When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made men- 
tion, 
Such was their lustre, they did so excell, 
That I sought out quaint words and trim inven- 
tion; 
My thoughts began to burnish, sprout, and swell, 
Curling with metaphors a plain intention, 5 

Decking the sense as if it were to sell. 

Thousands of notions in my brain did runne, 
Off'ring their service, if I were not sped. 

I often blotted what I had begunne; 9 

This was not quick enough, and that was dead. 

Nothing could seem too rich to clothe the sunne, 
Much lesse those joyes which trample on his 
head. 

As flames do work and winde when they ascend. 
So did I weave my self into the sense. 

But while I bustled, I might heare a friend 15 
Whisper, How wide is all this long pretence I 

There is in love a sweetnesse readie penn'd; 
Copie out onely that, and save expense. 



II. THE RESOLVE 51 



PRAISE 

To write a verse or two is all the praise 
That I can raise. 
Mend my estate in any wayes, 
Thou shalt have more. 

I go to Church; help me to wings, and I 5 

Will thither flie. 
Or, if I mount unto the skie, 
I will do more. 

Man is all weaknesse; there is no such thing 

As Prince or King. 10 

His arm is short, yet with a sling 
He may do more. 

An herb destill'd, and drunk, may dwell next doore 
On the same floore 
To a brave soul. Exalt the poore, 15 
They can do more. 

O raise me then ! Poore bees, that work all day, 
Sting my delay; 
Who have a work as well as they. 

And much, much more. 20 



52 II. THE RESOLVE 



THE QUIDDITIE 

My God, a verse is not a crown, 
No point of honour, or gay suit, 

No hawk, or banquet, or renown, 
Nor a good sword, nor yet a lute: 

It cannot vault, or dance, or play; 5 

It never was in France or Spain; 

Nor can it entertain the day 
With a great stable or demain. 

It is no office, art, or news. 

Nor the Exchange, or busie Hall. 10 
But it is that which while I use 

I am with thee; and Mosty take all. 



II. THE RESOLVE 53 



THE ELIXER 

Teach me, my God and King, 
In all things thee to see; 
And what I do in any thing. 
To do it as for thee. 

Not rudely, as a beast, 5 

To runne into an action; 
But still to make thee prepossest, 
And give it his perfection. 

A man that looks on glasse 

On it may stay his eye, 10 

Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, 
And then the heav'n espie. 



54 II. THE RESOLVE 



All may of thee partake; 
Nothing can be so mean 
Which with his tincture (for thy sake) 15 
Will not grow bright and clean. 

A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgerie divine; 
Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws. 

Makes that and th' action fine. 20 

This is the famous stone 
That turneth all to gold; 
For that which God doth touch and own 
Cannot for lesse be told. 



II. THE RESOLVE 55 



EMPLOYMENT 

He that is weary, let him sit! 

My soul would stirre 
And trade in courtesies and wit, 

Quitting the furre 
To cold complexions needing it. 5 

Man is no starre, but a quick coal 

Of mortall fire; 
Who blows it not, nor doth controll 

A faint desire, 
Lets his own ashes choke his soul. 10 

When th' elements did for place contest 
With him whose will 

Ordain'd the highest to be best, 

The earth sat still, 

And by the others is opprest. 15 



56 II. THE RESOLVE 



Life is a businesse, not good cheer, 

Ever in warres. 
The sunne still shineth there or here, 

Whereas the starres 
Watch an advantage to appeare. 20 

Oh that I were an Orenge-tree, 
That busie plant! 

Then should I ever laden be. 

And never want 

Some fruit for him that dressed me. 25 

But we are still too young or old; 

The man is gone 
Before we do our wares unfold. 

So we freeze on, 
Untill the grave increase our cold. 30 



II. THE RESOLVE 57 



ANTIPHON 

Chor. Praised be the God of love, 

Men. Here below, 

Angels. And here above. 
Cho. Who hath dealt his mercies so, 

Ang. To his friend, 5 

Men. And to his foe, 

Cho. That both grace and glorie tend 
Ang. Us of old, 
Men. And us in th' end. 

Cho. The great shepherd of the fold 10 

Ang. Us did make. 
Men. For us was sold. 

Cho. He our foes in pieces brake. 

A7ig. Him we touch, 

Men. And him we take. 15 

Cho. Wherefore since that he is such, 

Ang. We adore. 

Men. And we do crouch. 

Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more. 

Men. We have none, 20 

Ang. And we no store. 

Cho. Praised be the God alone. 

Who hath made of two folds one. 



Ill 

THE CHURCH 



PREFACE 

IN religion Herbert, with most of the devout men 
of his time, AngHcans no less than Puritans, 
is, as I have elsewhere argued, an individualist. 
The relations between God and his own soul are 
what interest him. Like Bunyan's Pilgrim, he 
undertakes a solitary journey to the heavenly city, 
and concerns himself little about his fellow men, 
except to cry aloud that they too are in danger. 
Any notion of dedicating himself to their welfare is 
foreign to him. Perhaps his poem The Windows 
comes nearest to expressing something like human 
responsibihty. But such moods are rare. Usually 
his responsibility is to God alone; and this, pas- 
sionately uttered in Aaron and The Priesthood, 
is the farthest point to which his self-centred piety 
carries his verse. The mystic forgets himself in 
the thought of God ; the philanthropist, in the 
thought of human needs. To Herbert — at least 
to the poet Herbert — the personal relationship of 
the soul to God is the one matter of consequence. 
In this relationship he finds the foundation of 
the Church. As the home organizes and gives 
opportunity of expression to the love of single 
persons for one another, so does the Church to the 
love of single persons and God. Herbert never 



62 PREFACE TO 

thinks of the Church in our modern fashion as 
the manifestation of God to collective humanity, 
progressively enlarging human powers and expand- 
ing human ideals. Nor does he conceive it as an 
august divine institution, venerable in itself, and 
rightly subordinating individuals to its own high 
ends. It is easy to mistake Herbert for an ecclesi- 
astic, and to say, as has sometimes been said, that 
he cannot be understood by one who is not Episco- 
pally born. But such an error is due to careless 
reading. He is, indeed, devoted to the Church. 
He talks of nothing else. But in his poem Sion, 
as constantly though less explicitly elsewhere, he 
explains that the Church, God's Temple, is the 
human heart, and that all its frame and fabrick is 
within. His book he thus very naturally entitled 
The Church or Temple, and told Ferrar that it 
was a picture of the many Conflicts that have past 
betwixt God and my Soul before I could subject 
mine to the will of Jesus my Master. 

It is not strange, then, that one who has made 
the resolve which is set forth in the preceding 
Group of poems should become a singer of the 
Church and its ordinances as thus conceived. For 
these celebrate the going forth of a loving God to 
seek a wayward sinner. They show that sinner 
ill at ease so long as he is parted from his exalted 
friend, and they indicate the means through which 
a heavenly union may be accomplished. But one 
who takes love for his theme will find that there 



THE CHURCH 63 

are three ways of exploring it. He may directly 
inspect the yearning moods of the soul, viewing 
them as psychological facts of experience ; or he 
may consider more abstractly the general relations 
involved in love, and treat these as theoretic sub- 
jects of contemplation ; or lastly, he may catalogue 
the regularities of love, its habitual modes of ex- 
pression, the fixed avenues through which the loved 
one becomes accessible. And all these ways are as 
open to the student of sacred love as to him who 
would study the profane. 

Herbert adopts them all, sometimes in the same 
poem. I believe, however, I can make liis work 
more intelligible if I roughly classify and divide 
according to this scheme. Those of his Cambridge 
poems which predominantly deal with his great 
theme in the direct way I accordingly entitle The 
Inner Life. Those which treat it as a subject for 
philosophic analysis I call Meditation. And to 
those which mark out its ordered paths I give 
the special name of The Church. It is true that 
in doing so I unwarrantably narrow Herbert's 
comprehensive word. Besides my Group, he covers 
with that holy name every stirring of the aspiring 
soul and every serious reflection on the life of love. 
It is the all-including title of his poems. But I see 
no harm in applying it, par excellence and after 
this explanation, to the institutional features of 
love. Only we must be careful to remember that 
these, no less than the poignant cries of separation 



64 PREFACE TO 

and suffering, derive their meanings from the indi- 
vidual experience of love. 

There are advantages in placing this Group 
first, and in bringing the Group on The Inner Life 
into close connection with The Crisis. From their 
style, too, I suspect that most of these churchly 
poems are of earlier date than the majority of 
those which follow. That is certainly the case 
with the longest and most important, The Sacri^ 
fice; an archaic piece which, with all its compact 
power, is likely to prove somewhat repulsive to a 
modern taste. In it the suffering of Him who loves 
us is anatomized in elaborate, and perhaps too 
calculated, detail. Probably a reader will approach 
it most understandingly by comparing it with early 
Flemish and German paintings, or with Albert 
Diirer's woodcuts. Durer's Passion and his Life 
of the Virgin were widely circulated in the century 
before Herbert. One fancies Herbert turning them 
over and designing his Altar-piece in their spirit. 
In it and them there is elaborate realism in setting 
forth an ideal scene, an exaggeration of physical 
pain, a forced ingenuity in distressful incident, and 
a failure to subordinate detail; while at the same 
time there is distributed everywhere a strange 
vividness, rich human sympathies, and the im- 
pression — conveyed, we hardly know how — that 
through all the crowded and homely circumstance 
the solemnest of world-events is occurring. In 
treating so sacred a subject Herbert allows himself 



THE CHURCH 65 

the smallest possible departure from the words of 
Scripture. 

Following The Sacrifice, I set a series of festi- 
val songs, in which analogies of the soul's experi- 
ence are found in historic events. With these falls 
the festival of Sunday, a day more frequent, 
pompous, and full of human significance than all 
other holy days. After it are grouped special modes 
of divine communication, — through Prayer, 
Scripture, Baptisme, Communion, Musick. 
The group concludes with the solemn monitions 
of stately burial monuments, inciting the beholder 
to high aspiration and disentanglement from the 
body. 



66 m. THE CHURCH 



SUPERLIMINARE 

Thou, whom the former precepts have 
Sprinkled and taught how to behave 
Thy self in church, approach, and taste 
The churches mysticall repast. 

Avoid, prof anenesse ! Come not here! 
Nothing but holy, pure, and cleare, 
Or that which groneth to be so, 
May at his perill further go. 



m. THE CHURCH 67 



THE ALTAR 

A BROKEN Altar, Lord, thy servant reares, 
Made of a heart and cemented with teares; 
Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; 
No workman's tool hath touch'd the same. 
A Heart alone 5 

Is such a , stone 
As nothing but 
Thy pow'r doth cut. 
Wherefore each part 
Of my hard heart 10 

Meets in this frame 
To praise thy name; 
That if I chance to hold my peace, 
These stones to praise thee may not cease. 
O let thy blessed Sacrifice be mine, 
And sanctifie this A l t a r to be thine. 



68 III. THE CHURCH 



THE SACRIFICE 



Oh all ye who passe by, whose eyes and minde 
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde, 
To me who took eyes that I might you finde. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

The Princes of my people make a head 5 

Against their Maker; they do wish me dead, 
Who cannot wish except I give them bread. 

Was ever grief like mine ? 



Without me each one who doth now me brave 
Had to this day been an Egyptian slave. 10 
They use that power against me which I gave. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

Mine own Apostle, who the bag did beare, 
Though he had all I had, did not forbeare 
To sell me also and to put me there. 15 

Was ever grief, &c. 



III. THE CHURCH 69 

For thirtie pence he did my death devise 
Wlio at three hundred did the ointment prize, 
Not half so sweet as my sweet sacrifice. 

Was ever grief hke mine ? 

Therefore my soul melts, and my heart's deare 
treasure 21 

Drops bloud (the onely beads) my words to mea- 
sure: 

O let this cup passe, if it he thy pleasure. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

These drops, being temper'd with a sinner's tears, 
A Balsome are for both the Hemispheres; 26 

Curing all wounds but mine, all but my fears. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Yet my Disciples sleep. I cannot gain 
One houre of watching; but their drowsie brain 
Comforts not me, and doth my doctrine stain. 31 
Was ever grief, &;c. 

Arise, arise ! They come. Look, how they runne I 
Alas! What haste they make to be undone! 
How with their lanterns do they seek the sunne! 
Was ever grief, &c. 36 



70 III. THE CHURCH 

With clubs and staves they seek me as a thief 
Who am the way of truth, the true rehef. 
Most true to those who are my greatest grief. 
Was ever grief hke mine ? 

Judas, dost thou betray me with a kisse ? 41 

Canst thou finde hell about my lips ? And misse 
Of life just at the gates of life and blisse ? 
Was ever grief, &c. 

See, they lay hold on me not with the hands 45 
Of faith, but furie. Yet at their commands 
I suffer binding, who have loos'd their bands. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

All my Disciples flie; fear puts a barre 49 

Betwixt my friends and me. They leave the starre 
That brought the wise men of the East from farre. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Then from one ruler to another bound 
They leade me, urging that it was not sound 
What I taught. Comments would the text con- 
found. 55 
Was ever grief, &c. 



III. THE CHURCH 71 

The Priest and rulers all false witnesse seek 
'Gainst him who seeks not life, but is the meek 
And readie Paschal Lambe of this great week. 
Was ever grief like mine ^ 

Then they accuse me of great blasphemie, 61 
That I did thrust into the Deitie, 
Who never thought that any robberie. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Some said that I the Temple to the floore 65 

In three dayes raz'd, and raised as before. 
Why, he that built the world can do much more. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Then they condemne me all with that same breath 
Which I do give them daily, unto death. 70 

Thus Adam my first breathing rendereth. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

They binde, and leade me unto Herod. He 
Sends me to Pilate. This makes them agree; 
But yet their friendship is my enmitie. 75 

Was ever grief, &c. 



72 III. THE CHURCH 

Herod and all his bands do set me light 
Who teach all hands to warre, fingers to fight, 
And onely am the Lord of hosts and might. 

Was ever grief like mine ? 

Herod in judgement sits, while I do stand; 81 
Examines me with a censorious hand. 
I him obey, who all things else command. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

The Jews accuse me with despitefulnesse, 85 
And vying malice with my gentlenesse. 
Pick quarrels with their onely happinesse. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

I answer nothing, but with patience prove 
If stonie hearts will melt with gentle love. 90 
But who does hawk at eagles with a dove ? 
Was ever grief, &c. 

My silence rather doth augment their crie; 
My dove doth back into my bosome flie. 
Because the raging waters still are high. 95 

Was ever grief, &c. 



III. THE CHURCH 73 

Heark how they crie aloud still, Crucifie I 
It is not fit he live a day, they crie. 
Who cannot live lesse then eternally. 99 

Was ever grief like mine ? 

Pilate, a stranger, holdeth off; but they, 
Mine owne deare people, cry. Away, away! 
With noises confused frighting the day. 

Was ever grief, &c. 104 

Yet still they shout and crie and stop their eares. 
Putting my life among their sinnes and fears. 
And therefore with my hloud on them and theirs. 
Was ever grief, &c. 108 

See how spite cankers things. These words, aright 
Used and wished, are the whole world's light; 
But hony is their gall, brightnesse their night. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

They choose a murderer, and all agree 
In him to do themselves a courtesie; 
For it was their own cause who killed me. 115 
Was ever grief, &c. 



74 III. THE CHURCH 

And a seditious murderer he was, 
But I the Prince of peace; peace that doth passe 
All understanding, more then heav'n doth glasse. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

Why, Cesar is their onely King, not I. 121 

He clave the stonie rock when they were drie; 
But surely not their hearts, as I well trie. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Ah, How they scourge me! Yet my tendernesse 
Doubles each lash, and yet their bitternesse 126 
Windes up my grief to a mysteriousnesse. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

They buffet me and box me as they list, 129 

Who grasp the earth and heaven with my fist, 
And never yet, whom I would punish, miss'd. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Behold, they spit on me in scornfull wise 
Who by my spittle gave the bHnde man eies. 
Leaving his blindnesse to mine enemies. 135 

Was ever grief, &c. 



III. THE CHURCH 75 

My face they cover, though it be divine. 
As Closes' face was vailed, so is mine, 138 

Lest on their double-dark souls either shine. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

Servants and abjects flout me; they are wittie: 
Now prophesie who strikes thee, is their dittie. 
So they in me denie themselves all pitie. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

And now I am deliver'd unto death, 145 

W^hich each one cals for so with utmost breath 
That he before me well nigh suffereth. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Weep not, deare friends, since I for both have wept 
When all my tears were bloud, the while you slept. 
Your tears for your own fortunes should be kept. 
Was ever grief, &c. 152 

The souldiers lead me to the common hall; 
There they deride me, they abuse me all. 
Yet for twelve heav'nly legions I could call. 155 
Was ever grief, &c. 



76 III. THE CHURCH 

Then with a scarlet robe they me aray; 
Which shews my bloud to be the onely way 
And cordiall left to repair man's decay. 159 

Was ever grief like mine ? 

Then on my head a crown of thorns I wear; 
For these are all the grapes Sion doth bear, 
Though I my vine planted and watred there. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

So sits the earth's great curse in Adam's fall 165 
Upon my head. So I remove it all 
From th' earth unto my brows, and bear the 
thrall. 

Was ever grief, &c. 

Then with the reed they gave to me before 
They strike my head, the rock from whence all 

store 170 

Of heav'nly blessings issue evermore. 

Was ever grief, &c. 

They bow their knees to me and cry, Hail king ! 
Wliat ever scoffes or scornfulnesse can bring, 
I am the floore, the sink, where they it fling. 175 
Was ever grief, &c. 



III. THE CHURCH 77 

Yet since man's scepters are as frail as reeds, 
And thorny all their crowns, bloudie their weeds, 
I, who am Truth, turn into truth their deeds. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

The souldiers also spit upon that face 181 

Which Angels did desire to have the grace, 
And Prophets, once to see, but found no place. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Thus trimmed, forth they bring me to the rout, 185 
AVho Crucifle him! crie with one strong shout. 
God holds his peace at man, and man cries out. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

They leade me in once more, and putting then 
Mine own clothes on, they leade me out agen. 190 
Whom devils flie, thus is he toss'd of men. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

And now wearle of sport, glad to ingrosse 
All spite in one, counting my life their losse. 
They carrie me to my most bitter crosse. 195 

Was ever grief, &c. 



78 III. THE CHURCH 

My crosse I bear my self untill I faint. 
Then Simon bears it for me by constraint, 
The decreed burden of each mortall Saint. 199 
Was ever grief Hke mine ? 

O all ye who passe by, behold and see I 

Man stole the fruit, but I must climbe the tree; 

The tree of life to all but onely me. 

Was ever grief, &c. 204 

Lo, here I hang, charg'd with a world of sinne. 
The greater world o' th' two; for that came in 
By words, but this by sorrow I must win. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Such sorrow as, if sinfuU man could feel 209 

Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel 
Till all were melted, though he were all steel. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

But, O my God, my God I why leav'st thou me. 
The Sonne, in whom thou dost delight to be ? 

My God, my God 215 

Never was grief like mine. 



III. THE CHURCH 79 

Shame tears my soul, my bodie many a wound; 
Sharp nails pierce this, but sharper that confound; 
Reproches, which are free, while I am bound. 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

Now heal thy self. Physician, now come down I 
Alas! I did so, when I left my crown 222 

And father's smile for you, to feel his frown. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

In healing not my self, there doth consist 225 
All that salvation which ye now resist; 
Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath. 
As he that for some robberie suffereth. 230 

Alas ! what have I stoUen from you ? Death. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

A king my title is, prefixt on high; 
Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die 
A servile death in servile companie. 235 

Was ever grief, &c. 



80 III. THE CHURCH 



They gave me vineger mingled with gall, 
But more with malice. Yet when they did call. 
With Manna, Angels' food, I fed them all. 239 
Was ever grief like mine ? 

They part my garments and by lot dispose 
My coat, the type of love, which once cur'd those 
Who sought for help, never malicious foes. 
Was ever grief, &c. 

Nay, after death their spite shall further go; 245 
For they will pierce my side, I full well know, 
That as sinne came, so Sacraments might flow. 
W^as ever grief, &c. 

But now I die, now all is finished; 
My wo, man's weal. And now I bow my head. 
Onely let others say, when I am dead, 251 

Never was grief like mine. 



III. THE CHURCH 81 



GOOD FRIDAY 

O MY chief good, 
How shall I measure out thy bloud ? 
How shall I count what thee befell, 

And each grief tell ? 

Shall I thy woes 5 

Number according to thy foes ? 
Or, since one starre show'd thy first breath, 

Shall all thy death ? 

Or shall each leaf 
Which falls in Autumne score a grief? 10 
Or cannot leaves, but fruit, be signe 

Of the true vine ? 

Then let each houre 
Of my whole life one grief devoure; 
That thy distresse through all may runne, 

And be my sunne. 16 

Or rather let 
My severall sinnes their sorrows get; 
That as each beast his cure doth know. 

Each sinne may so. 20 



82 III. THE CHURCH 



Since bloud is fittest, Lord, to write 
Thy sorrows in and bloudie fight; 
My heart hath store, write there, where in 
One box doth he both ink and sinne. 

That when sinne spies so many foes, 25 

Thy whips, thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes. 
All come to lodge there, sinne may say, 
No room for me, and flie away. 

Sinne being gone, oh fill the place 

And keep possession with thy grace! 30 

Lest sinne take courage and return, 

And all the writings blot or burn. 



III. THE CHURCH 83 



EASTER 

Rise, heart, thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise 
Without delayes. 

Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise 
With him mayst rise; 

That, as his death calcined thee to dust, 5 

His life may make thee gold, and much more, just. 

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part 
With all thy art: 

The crosse taught all wood to resound his name 
Who bore the same; 10 

His streched sinews taught all strings what key 

Is best to celebrate this most high day. 

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song 
Pleasant and long. 

Or, since all musick is but three parts vied 15 
And multiplied, 

O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part. 

And make up our defects with his sweet art. 



84 III. THE CHURCH 



I got me flowers to straw thy way, 

I got me boughs off many a tree, 20 

But thou wast up by break of day. 

And brought'st thy sweets along with thee. 

The Sunne arising in the East, 

Though he give hght, and th' East perfume. 
If they should offer to contest 25 

With thy arising, they presume. 

Can there be any day but this. 

Though many sunnes to shine endeavour? 
We count three hundred, but we misse; 

There is but one, and that one ever. 30 



m. THE CHURCH 85 



WHITSUNDAY 

Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song 
And spread thy golden wings in me; 
Hatching my tender heart so long 
Till it get wing and flie away with thee. 

Where is that fire which once descended 5 
On thy Apostles ? Thou didst then 
Keep open house, richly attended. 
Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men. 

Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow 
That th' earth did like a heav'n appeare; 10 
The starres were coming down to know 
If they might mend their wages and serve here. 



86 III. THE CHURCH 



The sunne, which once did shine alone, 
Hung down his head and wisht for night 
When he beheld twelve sunnes for one 15 
Going about the world and giving light. 

But since those pipes of gold, which brought 
That cordiall water to our ground. 
Were cut and martyred by the fault 
Of those who did themselves through their side 
wound, 20 

Thou shutt'st the doore and keep'st within, 
Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink; 
And if the braves of conqu'ring sinne 
Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink. 

Lord, though we change, thou art the same; 
The same sweet God of love and light. 26 

Restore this day, for thy great name, 
Unto his ancient and miraculous right. 



III. THE CHURCH 87 



TRINITIE-SUNDAY 

Lord, who hast form'd me out of mud, 
And hast redeem'd me through thy bloud. 
And sanctifi'd me to do good. 

Purge all my sinnes done heretofore; 
For I confesse my heavie score, 
And I will strive to sinne no more. 

Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me. 
With faith, with hope, with charitie. 
That I may runne, rise, rest with thee. 



88 III. THE CHURCH 



TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS 

Oh glorious spirits, who after all your bands 
See the smooth face of God without a frown 

Or strict commands; 
Where ev'ry one is king, and hath his crown 

If not upon his head, yet in his hands; 5 

Not out of en vie or maliciousnesse 

Do I forbear to crave your speciall aid. 

I would addresse 
My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid, 

And Mother of my God, in my distresse. 10 

Thou art the holy mine whence came the gold, 

The great restorative for all decay 
In young and old. 

Thou art the cabinet where the Jewell lay; 
Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold. 15 



III. THE CHURCH 



But now (alas!) I dare not, for our King, 
Whom we do all joyntly adore and praise, 

Bids no such thing; 
And where his pleasure no injunction layes, 

('Tis your own case) ye never move a wing. 20 

All worship is prerogative, and a flower 

Of his rich crown from whom lyes no appeal 

At the last houre. 
Therefore we dare not from his garland steal 

To make a posie for inferiour power. 25 

Although then others court you, if ye know 
What's done on earth, we shall not fare the 
worse 

Who do not so; 
Since we are ever ready to disburse. 
If any one our Master's hand can show. 30 



90 III. THE CHURCH 



CHRISTMAS 

All after pleasures as I rid one day, 

My horse and I both tir'd, bodie and minde, 
With full crie of affections quite astray, 

I took up in the next inne I could finde. 
There when I came, whom found I but my deare. 

My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief 6 

Of pleasures brought me to him, readie there 

To be all passengers' most sweet relief ? 
O Thou, whose glorious yet contracted light. 

Wrapt in night's mantle, stole into a manger. 
Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right, 11 

To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger. 
Furnish and deck my soul, that thou mayst 

have 
A better lodging then a rack, or grave. 



III. THE CHURCH 91 



The shepherds sing, and shall I silent be ? 15 

My God, no hymne for thee ? 
My soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds 

Of thoughts, and words, and deeds. 
The pasture is thy word; the streams, thy grace 

Enriching all the place. 20 

Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers 

Out-sing the day-light houres. 
Then we will cliide the sunne for letting night 

Take up his place and right. 
We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should 

Himself the candle hold. 26 

I will go searching, till I finde a sunne 

Shall stay till we have done, 
A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly 

As frost-nipt sunnes look sadly. 30 

Then we will sing and shine all our own day, 

And one another pay. 
His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine 
Till ev'n his beams sing and my musick shine. 



92 III. THE CHURCH 

LENT 

Welcome, deare feast of Lent! Who loves not 

thee. 
He loves not Temperance or Authoritie, 

But is compos'd of passion. 
The Scriptures bid us fast; the Church sayes, now; 
Give to thy Mother what thou wouldst allow 5 

To ev'ry Corporation. 

The humble soul, compos'd of love and fear. 
Begins at home and layes the burden there, 

When doctrines disagree. 
He sayes, in things which use hath justly got, 10 
I am a scandall to the Church, and not 

The Church is so to me. 

True Christians should be glad of an occasion 
To use their temperance, seeking no evasion 

When good is seasonable; 15 

Unlesse Authoritie, which should increase 
The obligation in us, make it lesse, 

And Power it self disable. 

Besides the cleannesse of sweet abstinence, 
Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, 

A face not fearing light; 21 

Whereas in fulnesse there are sluttish fumes, 
Sowre exhalations, and dishonest rheumes. 

Revenging the delight. 



III. THE CHURCH 93 

Then those same pendant profits, which the spring 
And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing 26 

And goodnesse of the deed. 
Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent 
Spoil the good use, lest by that argument 

We forfeit all our Creed. 30 

It's true we cannot reach Christ's forti'th day; 
Yet to go part of that religious way 

Is better then to rest. 
We cannot reach our Saviour's puritie; 
Yet are we bid, Be holy evn as he. 35 

In both let's do our best. 

Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, 
Is much more sure to meet with him then one 

That travelleth by-wayes. 
Perhaps my God, though he be farre before, 40 
May turn and take me by the hand, and more 

May strengthen my decay es. 

Yet Lord instruct us to improve our fast 
By starving sinne, and taking such repast 

As may our faults controll; 45 
That ev'ry man may revell at his doore. 
Not in his parlour; banquetting the poore. 

And among those his soul. 



94 III. THE CHURCH 



SUNDAY 

O DAY most calm, most bright, 
The fruit of this, the next world's bud, 
Th' indorsement of supreme delight. 
Writ by a friend, and with his bloud; 

The couch of time, care's balm and bay; 5 
The week were dark but for thy light. 
Thy torch doth show the way. 

The other dayes and thou 
Make up one man, whose face thou art. 

Knocking at heaven with thy brow. 10 

The worky-daies are the back-part; 

The burden of the week lies there. 
Making the whole to stoup and bow 
Till thy release appeare. 

Man had straight forward gone 15 
To endlesse death; but thou dost pull 

And turn us round to look on one 
Whom, if we were not very dull, 

We could not choose but look on still; 
Since there is no place so alone 20 

The which he doth not fill. 



III. THE CHURCH 95 



Sundaies the pillars are 
On which heav'ns palace arched lies; 

The other dayes fill up the spare 
And hollow room with vanities. 25 

They are the fruitfull beds and borders 
In God's rich garden: that is bare 

Which parts their ranks and orders. 

The Sundaies of man's life, 
Thredded together on time's string, 30 

Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
Of the eternall glorious King. 

On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope. 
Blessings are plentifull and rife. 

More plentifull then hope. 35 

This day my Saviour rose. 
And did inclose this light for his; 

That, as each beast his manger knows, 
Man might not of his fodder misse. 

Christ hath took in this piece of ground, 40 
And made a garden there for those 

Who want herbs for their wound. 



96 III, THE CHURCH 



The rest of our Creation 
Our great Redeemer did remove 

With the same shake which at his passion 45 
Did th* earth and all things with it move. 

As Samson bore tlie doores away, 
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salva- 
tion 

And did unhinge that day. 

The brightnesse of that day 50 

We sullied by our foul offence; 

Wherefore that robe we cast away. 
Having a new at his expence 

Whose drops of bloud paid the full price 
That was required to make us gay, 55 

And fit for Paradise. 

Thou art a day of mirth; 
And where the week-dayes trail on ground. 

Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. 
O let me take thee at the bound, 60 

Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'n. 
Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, 
Flie hand in hand to heav'n! 



III. THE CHURCH 97 



PRAYER 

Prayer the Churches banquet, Angel's age, 
God's breath in man returning to his birth, 
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage. 

The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth; 

Engine against th' Almightie, sinner's 4:owre, 5 
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, 

The six-daies -world transposing in an houre, 
A kinde of tune which all things heare and fear; 

Softnesse and peace and joy and love and bhsse, 
Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best, 10 

Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest. 

The milkie way, the bird of Paradise, 

Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the soul's 

bloud. 
The land of spices; something understood. 



98 III. THE CHURCH 



PRAYER 

Of what an easie quick accesse, 
My blessed Lord, art thou! How suddenly 

May our requests thine eare invade! 
To shew that state dislikes not easinesse, 
If I but lift mine eyes my suit is made; 5 

Thou canst no more not heare then thou canst die. 

Of what supreme almightie power 
Is thy great arm, which spans the east and west 

And tacks the centre to the sphere! 
By it do all things live their measur'd houre, 10 
We cannot ask the thing which is not there. 
Blaming the shallownesse of our request. 

Of what unmeasureable love 
Art thou possest who, when thou couldst not die, 

Wert fain to take our flesh and curse 15 

And for our sakes in person sinne reprove. 
That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse, 
Thou mightst make way for liberalitie! 

Since then these three wait on thy throne, 
Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so 20 

That were I to leave all but one. 
Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go; 
I and deare prayer would together dwell. 
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell. 



III. THE CHURCH 



THE H. SCRIPTURES 

I 

Oh Book! Infinite sweetnesse! Let my heart 

Suck ev'ry letter and a hony gain, 

Precious for any grief in any part. 
To cleare the breast, to moUifie all pain. 
Thou art all health, health thriving till it make 

A full eternitie. Thou art a masse 6 

Of strange dehghts, where we may wish and 
take. 
Ladies, look here! This is the thankfull glasse 
That mends the looker's eyes; this is the well 

That washes what it shows. Who can indeare 

Thy praise too much ? Thou art heav'n's Lidger 
here, 1 1 

Working against the states of death and hell. 

Thou art joyes handsell. Heav'n Hes flat in 
thee, 

Subject to ev'ry mounter's bended knee. 



100 III. THE CHURCH 



II 

Oh tliat I knew how all thy lights combine, 
And the configurations of their glorie! 
Seeing not onely how each verse doth shine, 

But all the constellations of the storie. 

This verse marks that, and both do make a motion 
Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie; 6 
Then as dispersed herbs do watch a potion, 

These three make up some Christian's destinie. 

Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good. 
And comments on thee; for in ev'ry thing 
Thy words do finde me out, and parallels bring, 

And in another make me understood. 12 

Starres are poore books, and oftentimes do misse; 
This book of starres lights to eternall blisse. 



in. THE CHURCH 101 



H. BAPTISME 

As he that sees a dark and shadie grove 
Stayes not, but looks beyond it on the skie; 
So when I view my sinnes, mine eyes remove 
More backward still and to that water flie 
Which is above the heav'ns, whose spring and 
rent 5 

Is in my deare Redeemer's pierced side. 
O blessed streams! Either ye do prevent 
And stop our sinnes from growing thick and wide. 
Or else give tears to drown them as they grow. 
In you Redemption measures all my time 
And spreads the plaister equall to the crime. 
You taught the book of life my name, that so, 12 
What ever future sinnes should me miscall, 
Your first acquaintance might discredit all. 



102 III. THE CHURCH 



H. BAPTISMS 

Since, Lord, to thee 
A narrow way and little gate 
Is all the passage, on my infancie 

Thou didst lay hold and antedate 

My faith in me. 5 

O let me still 
Write thee great God, and me a childe. 
Let me be soft and supple to thy will, 

Small to my self, to others milde, 

Behither ill. 10 

Although by stealth 
My flesh get on, yet let her sister, 
My soul, bid nothing but preserve her wealth. 
The growth of flesh is but a blister; 

Childhood is health. 15 



III. THE CHURCH 103 



THE H. COMMUNION 

Not in rich furniture or fine aray, 
Nor in a wedge of gold, 
Thou, who from me wast sold, 
To me dost now thy self convey; 

For so thou should'st without me still have been, 5 
Leaving within me sinne. 

But by the way of nourishment and strength 
Thou creep'st into my breast. 
Making thy way my rest. 
And thy small quantities my length; 10 

Which spread their forces into every part. 
Meeting sinne' s force and art. 

Yet can these not get over to my soul, 

Leaping the wall that parts 

Our souls and fleshly hearts; 15 

But as th' outworks, they may controll 
My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name. 

Affright both sinne and shame. 

Onely thy grace, which with these elements comes, 
Knoweth the ready way 20 

And hath the privie key, 
Op'ning the soul's most subtile rooms; 

While those to spirits refin'd at doore attend 
Dispatches from their friend. 



104 III. THE CHURCH 



Give me my captive soul, or take 25 

My bodie also thither. 
Another lift like this will make 

Them both to be together. 

Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone. 

And all our lump to leaven, 30 

A fervent sigh might well have blown 
Our innocent earth to heaven. 

For sure when Adam did not know 
To sinne, or sinne to smother, 

He might to heav'n from Paradise go 35 

As from one room t' another. 

Thou hast restor'd us to this ease 

By this thy heav'nly bloud; 
Which I can go to when I please. 

And leave th' earth to their food. 40 



III. THE CHURCH 105 



CHURCH-MUSICK 

Sweetest of sweets, I thank you ! When displea- 
sure 
Did through my bodie wound my minde, 
You took me thence, and in your house of plea- 
sure 
A daintie lodging me assign'd. 

Now I in you without a bodie move, 5 

Rising and falling with your wings. 

We both together sweetly live and love. 

Yet say sometimes, God help poore Kings. 

Comfort, I'le die; for if you poste from me, 

Sure I shall do so, and much more. 10 

But if I travell in your companie. 

You know the way to heaven's doore. 



106 III. THE CHURCH 



CHURCH-MONUMENTS 

While that my soul repairs to her devotion, 
Here I intombe my flesh, that it betimes 

May take acquaintance of this heap of dust. 
To which the blast of death's incessant motion, 
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes, 5 

Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust 

My bodie to this school, that it may learn 
To spell his elements, and finde his birth 
Written in dustie heraldrie and lines 
Which dissolution sure doth best discern, 10 

Comparing dust with dust, and earth with 
earth. 
These laugh at leat and Marble put for signes 



III. THE CHURCH 107 



To sever the good fellowship of dust. 

And spoil the meeting. What shall point out 
them. 
When they shall bow and kneel and fall down 
flat 15 

To kisse those heaps which now they have in 
trust ? 
Deare flesh, while I do pray, learne here thy 
stemme 
And true descent; that when thou shalt grow 
fat 

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know 

That flesh is but the glasse which holds the dust 

That measures all our time; which also shall 

Be crumbled into dust. Mark here below 22 

How tame these ashes are, how free from lust, 

That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall. 



IV 

MEDITATION 



PREFACE 

HERE are grouped the most serious studies of 
Herbert's Cambridge days, studies of the 
natures of God and man, and of the possible rela- 
tions between the two. A similar set, though longer 
and of profounder import, was written at Bemer- 
ton, and appears later as Group IX. The poems of 
these two Groups have an abstract and impersonal 
character distinguishing them from the rest of the 
work of this singularly personal writer. In them 
Herbert's favorite pronoun, /, rarely appears; 
though of course these, no less than the others, 
study the approaches of God and the individual 
soul. 

The arrangement is as follows : After a few 
verses reproducing something of the sententious 
wisdom of The Church-Porch comes the com- 
pact poem on Man, a favorite with R. W. Emer- 
son and w4th all readers who love penetrative 
thought and daring phrase. The World depicts 
the construction of Man as clumsily managed 
by himself. To it succeed discussions of Sinne, 
Faith, and Redemption, themes seldom absent 
f^om Herbert's mind. And then comes a series of 



lia PREFACE 

what is almost as frequent with him, reflections 
on human changeableness; the whole naturally 
concluding with some young man's verse about 
Death and the life beyond. 



IV. MEDITATION 113 



CHARMS AND KNOTS 

Who reade a chapter when they rise, 
Shall ne're be troubled with ill eyes. 

A poore man's rod, when thou dost ride, 
Is both a weapon and a guide. 

Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold; 
Who opens it, hath it twice told. 

Who goes to bed and doth not pray, 
Maketh two nights to ev'ry day. 



114 IV. MEDITATION 



Who by aspersions throw a stone 

At th' head of others, hit their own. 10 

Who looks on ground with humble eyes, 
Findes himself there, and seeks to rise. 

When th' hair is sweet through pride or lust. 
The powder doth forget the dust. 

Take one from ten, and what remains ? 15 
Ten still, if sermons go for gains. 

In shallow waters heav'n doth show; 
But who drinks on, to hell may go. 



IV. MEDITATION 115 



MAN 

My God, I heard this day 
That none doth build a stately habitation 
But he that means to dwell therein. 
What house more stately hath there been, 
Or can be, then is Man ? To whose creation 
All things are in decay. 6 

For Man is ev'ry thing, 
And more. He is a tree, yet bears no fruit; 
A beast, yet is, or should be more; 
Reason and speech we onely bring. 10 

Parrats may thank us if they are not mute, 
They go upon the score. 

Man is all s}Tnmetrie, 
Full of proportions, one limbe to another, 
And all to all the world besides. 15 

Each part may call the farthest, brother; 
For head with foot hath private amitie. 
And both with moons and tides. 



116 IV. MEDITATION 



Nothing hath got so farre 
But Man hath caught and kept it as his prey. 20 
His eyes dismount the highest starre. 
He is in Httle all the sphere. 
Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they 
Finde their acquaintance there. 

For us the windes do blow, 25 

The earth doth rest, heav'n move, and fountains 
flow. 
Nothing we see but means our good. 
As our delight, or as our treasure; 
The whole is either our cupboard of jood 

Or cabinet of pleasure. 30 

The starres have us to bed; 
Night draws the curtain, which the sunne with- 
draws ; 
Musick and light attend our head. 
All things unto our flesh are kinde 
In their descent and being ; to our minde 35 

In their ascent and cause. 



IV. MEDITATION 117 



Each thing is full of dutie: 
Waters united are our navigation; 
Distinguished, our habitation; 
Below, our drink; above, our meat; 40 

Both are our cleanlinesse. Hath one such beautie ? 
Then how are all things neat ? 

More servants wait on Man 
Then he'l take notice of; in ev'ry path 44 

He treads down that which doth befriend him 
When sicknesse makes him pale and wan. 
Oh mightie love! Man is one world, and hath 
Another to attend him. 

Since then, my God, thou hast 
So brave a Palace built, O dwell in it, 50 

That it may dwell with thee at last! 
Till then afford us so much wit 
That as the world serves us we may serve thee, 
And both thy servants be. 



118 IV. MEDITATION 



THE WORLD 

Love built a stately house ; where Fortune came, 

And spinning phansies she was heard to say 
That her fine cobwebs did support the frame, 
Whereas they were supported by the same. 
But Wisdome quickly swept them all away. 5 

Then Pleasure came, who liking not the fashion, 

Began to make Balcones, Terraces, 
Till she had weakned all by alteration; 
But rev'rend laws and many a ^proclamation 

Reformed all at length with menaces. 10 

Then enter'd Sinne, and with that Sycomore, 
Whose leaves first sheltred man from drought 
and dew, 
Working and winding slily evermore, 13 

The inward walls and Sommers cleft and tore; 
But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew. 

Then Sinne combin'd with Death in a firm band 
To rase the building to the very floore; 

Which they effected, none could them withstand. 

But Love and Grace took Glorie by the hand 
And built a braver Palace then before. 20 



IV. MEDITATION 119 



SINNE 

O THAT I could a sinne once see! 
We paint the devil foul, yet he 
Hath some good in him, all agree. 
Sinne is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing 
It wants the good of vertue and of being. 5 

But God more care of us hath had: 

If apparitions make us sad, 

By sight of sinne we should grow mad. 

Yet as in sleep we see foul death and live; 

So devils are our sinnes in perspective. 10 



120 IV. MEDITATION 



SINNE 

Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round ! 

Parents first season us; then schoolmasters 
Dehver us to laws; they send us bound 

To rules of reason, holy messengers. 
Pulpits and sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne, 5 

Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, 
Fine nets and strategems to catch us in. 

Bibles laid open, millions of surprises. 
Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse, 

The sound of glorie ringing in our eares; 10 
Without, our shame; within, our consciences; 

Angels and grace, eternall hopes and fears. 
Yet all these fences and their whole aray 
One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away. 



IV. MEDITATION 121 



FAITH 

Lord, how couldst thou so much appease 
Thy wrath for sinne, as when man's sight was 
dimme 

And could see Httle, to regard his ease 
And bring by Faith all things to him ? 

Hungrie I was and had no meat. 5 

I did conceit a most delicious feast; 

I had it straight, and did as truly eat 
As ever did a welcome guest. 

There is a rare outlandish root 9 

Which, when I could not get, I thought it here; 

That apprehension cur'd so well my foot 
That I can walk to heav'n well neare. 

I owed thousands and much more. 
I did beleeve that I did nothing owe 

And liv'd accordingly; my creditor 15 

Beleeves so too, and lets me go. 

Faith makes me any thing, or all 
That I beleeve is in the sacred storie. 

And where sinne placeth me in Adam's fall. 
Faith sets me higher in his glorie. 20 



122 IV. MEDITATION 

If I go lower in the book, 
What can be lower then the common manger ? 

Faith puts me there with him who sweetly took 
Our flesh and frailtie, death and danger. 

If blisse had lien in art or strength, 25 

None but the wise or strong had gained it. 

Where now by Faith all arms are of a length; 
One size doth all conditions fit. 

A peasant may beleeve as much 29 

As a great Clerk, and reach the highest stature. 

Thus dost thou make proud knowledge bend 
and crouch 
While grace fills up uneven nature. 

When creatures had no reall light 
Inherent in them, thou didst make the sunne 

Impute a lustre and allow them bright, 35 

And in this shew what Christ hath done. 

That which before was darkned clean 
With bushie groves, pricking the looker's eie, 

Vanisht away when Faith did change the scene ; 
And then appear'd a glorious skie. 40 

What though my bodie runne to dust ? 
Faith cleaves unto it, counting evr'y grain 

With an exact and most particular trust, 
Reserving all for flesh again. 



IV. MEDITATION 123 



REDEMPTION 

Having been tenant long to a rich Lord, 
Not thriving, I resolved to be bold. 

And make a suit unto him to afford 

A new small-rented lease and cancell th' old. 

In heaven at his manour I him sought. 5 

They told me there that he was lately gone 

About some land which he had dearly bought 
Long since on earth, to take possession. 

I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth. 
Sought him accordingly in great resorts, 10 

In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts. 

At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth 
Of theeves and murderers ; there I him espied. 
Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, and died. 



124 IV. MEDITATION 



HUMILITIE 

I SAW the Vertues sitting hand in hand 

In sev'rall ranks upon an azure throne, 
Where all the beasts and fowls by their command 

Presented tokens of submission. 
Humilitie, who sat the lowest there 5 

To execute their call, 
When by the beasts the presents tendred were. 
Gave them about to all. 

The angrie Lion did present his paw, 9 

Which by consent was giv'n to Mansuetude. 
The fearfuU Hare her eares, which by their law 

Humilitie did reach to Fortitude. 
The jealous Turkic brought his corall-chain ; 

That went to Temperance. 
On Justice was bestow'd the Foxes brain, 15 

Kill'd in the way by chance. 



IV. MEDITATION 125 



At length the Crow bringing the Peacock's plume, 

(For he would not,) as they beheld the grace 
Of that brave gift, each one began to fume. 

And challenge it as proper to his place, 20 

Till they fell out; which when the beasts espied. 

They leapt upon the throne; 
And if the Fox had liv'd to rule their side. 
They had depos'd each one. 

Humilitie, who held the plume, at this 25 

Did weep so fast that the tears trickling down 
Spoil'd all the train; then saying, Here it is 
For which ye wrangle, made them turn their 
frown 
Against the beasts. So Joyntly bandying. 

They drive them soon away, 30 
And then amerc'd them double gifts to bring 
At the next Session-day. 



126 IV. MEDITATION 



UNGRATEFULNESSE 

Lord, with what bountie and rare clemencie 
Hast thou redeem'd us from the grave! 
If thou hadst let us runne, 
Gladly had man ador'd the sunne, 
And thought his god most brave; 5 

Where now we shall be better gods then he. 

Thou hast but two rare cabinets full of treasure, 
The Trinitie and Incarnation. 

Thou hast unlockt them both, 
And made them jewels to betroth 10 
The work of thy creation 
Unto thy self in everlasting pleasure. 

The statelier cabinet is the Trinitie, 

Whose sparkling light accesse denies. 

Therefore thou dost not show 15 

This fully to us till death blow 
The dust into our eyes; 
For by that powder thou wilt make us see. 



IV. MEDITATION 127 



But all thy sweets are packt up in the other, 

Thy mercies thither flock and flow; 20 

That as the first affrights^ 
This may allure us with delights, 
Because this box we know, 
For we have all of us just such another. 

But man is close» reserved, and dark to thee, 25 
When thou demandest but a heart. 
He cavils instantly. 
In his poore cabinet of bone 
Sinnes have their box apart. 
Defrauding thee, who gavest two for one. 30 



128 IV. MEDITATION 

AFFLICTION 

My God, I read this day 
That planted Paradise was not so firm 

As was and is thy floting Ark; whose stay 
And anchor thou art onely, to confirm 

And strengthen it in ev'ry age, 5 

When waves do rise and tempests rage. 

At first we liv'd in pleasure: 
Thine own dehghts thou didst to us impart. 
When we grew wanton, thou didst use dis- 
pleasure 
To make us thine ; yet that we might not part. 
As we at first did board with thee, 11 

Now thou wouldst taste our miserie. 

There is but joy and grief; 
If either will convert us, we are thine. 

Some Angels us'd the first; if our relief 15 

Take up the second, then thy double line 
And sev'rall baits in either kinde 
Furnish thy table to thy minde. 

Affliction then is ours. 19 

We are the trees whom shaking fastens more, 
While blustring windes destroy the wanton 
bowres, 
And ruffle all their curious knots and store. 
My God, so temper joy and wo 
That thy bright beams may tame thy bow. 



IV. MEDITATION 129 



MISERIE 

Lord, let the Angels praise thy name; 
Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing. 
Folly and Sinne play all his game. 
His house still burns, and yet he still doth sing, 
Man is but grasse, 5 

He knows it, fill the glasse. 

How canst thou brook his foolishnesse ? 
Why he'l not lose a cup of drink for thee. 

Bid him but temper his excesse, 9 

Not he; he knows where he can better be, 
As he will swear, 
Then to serve thee in fear. 

What strange pollutions doth he wed. 
And make his own! As if none knew but he. 

No man shall beat into his head 15 

That thou within his curtains drawn canst see. 
They are of cloth, 
Where never yet came moth. 



130 IV. MEDITATION 

The best of men, turn but thy hand 
For one poore minute, stumble at a pinne. 20 

They would not have their actions scann'd, 
Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne, 
Though it be small, 
And measure not their fall. 24 

They quarrell thee, and would give over 
The bargain made to serve thee; but thy love 

Holds them unto it and doth cover 
Their follies with the wing of thy milde Dove, 
Not suff'ring those 
Who would, to be thy foes. 30 

My God, Man cannot praise thy name. 
Thou art all brightnesse, perfect puritie; 

The sunne holds down his head for shame, 
Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee. 

How shall infection 35 

Presume on thy perfection ? 

As dirtie hands foul all they touch. 
And those things most which are most pure and 
fine, 
So our clay hearts, ev'n when we crouch 
To sing thy praises, make them lesse divine. 40 
Yet either this 
Or none thy portion is. 



IV. MEDITATION 131 



Man cannot serve thee; let him go, 
And serve the swine. There, there is his delight. 
He doth not like this vertue, no; 45 

Give him his dirt to wallow in all night. 
These Preachers make 
His head to shoot and ake. 

Oh foolish man ! Where are thine eyes ? 
How hast thou lost them in a croud of cares ? 50 

Thou pull'st the rug and wilt not rise. 
No, not to purchase the whole pack of starres. 
There let them shine. 
Thou must go sleep or dine. 

The bird that sees a daintie bowre 55 

Made in the tree where she was wont to sit, 

Wonders and sings, but not his power 
Who made the arbour; this exceeds her wit. 
But Man doth know 
The spring whence all things flow: 60 



132 IV. MEDITATION 



And yet, as though he knew it not, 
His knowledge winks and lets his humours reigne. 

They make his life a constant blot. 
And all the bloud of God to run in vain. 

Ah wretch! What verse 65 

Can thy strange wayes rehearse ? 

Indeed at first Man was a treasure, 
A box of jewels, shop of rarities, 

A ring whose posie was. My 'pleasure. 
He was a garden in a Paradise. 70 

Glorie and grace 
Did crown his heart and face. 

But sinne hath fool'd him. Now he is 
A lump of flesh, w^ithout a foot or wing 

To raise him to the glimpse of blisse; 75 

A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing; 
Nay, his own shelf; 
My God, I mean my self. 



IV. MEDITATION 133 



MORTIFICATION 

How soon doth man decay! 
When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets 
To swaddle infants, whose young breath 

Scarce knows the way. 
Those clouts are little winding sheets 5 

Which do consigne and send them unto death. 

When boyes go first to bed. 
They step into their voluntarie graves. 

Sleep bindes them fast; onely their breath 

Makes them not dead. 10 

Successive nights, like rolling waves, 
Convey them quickly who are bound for death. 

When youth is frank and free. 
And calls for musick while his veins do swell. 
All day exchanging mirth and breath 15 

In companie. 
That musick summons to the knell 
Wliich shall befriend him at the hduse of death. 



134 IV. MEDITATION 



When man grows staid and wise, 
Getting a house and home where he may move 20 
Within the circle of his breath, 

Schoohng his eyes. 
That dumbe inclosure maketh love 
Unto the coffin that attends his death. 

When age grows low and weak, 25 

Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry yeare, 
Till all do melt and drown his breath 

When he would speak, 
A chair or litter shows the biere 29 

Which shall convey him to the house of death. 

Man ere he is aware 
Hath put together a solemnitie, 

And drest his herse while he has breath 

As yet to spare. 
Yet Lord, instruct us so to die 35 

That all these dyings may be life in death. 



IV. MEDITATION 135 



DEATH 

Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, 
Nothing but bones, 
The sad effect of sadder grones; 
Thy mouth was open but thou couldst not sing. 

For we consider' d thee as at some six 5 

Or ten yeares hence. 
After the losse of Kfe and sense. 
Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks. 

We lookt on this side of thee, shooting short; 

Where we did finde 10 

The shells of fledge souls left behinde. 
Dry dust, which sheds no tears but may extort. 



136 IV. MEDITATION 



But since our Saviour's death did put some bloud 
Into thy face. 
Thou art grown fair and full of grace, 15 

Much in request, much sought for as a good. 

For we do now behold thee gay and glad. 
As at dooms-day; 
When souls shall wear their new aray,i 
And all thy bones with beautie shall be clad. 

Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust 21 
Half that we have 
Unto an honest faithfull grave. 
Making our pillows either down or dust. 



IV. MEDITATION 137 



DOOMS-DAY 

Come away, 
Make no delay. 
Summon all the dust to rise, 
Till it stirre and rubbe the eyes, 
While this member jogs the other, 5 

Each one whispring, Live you brother? 

Come away, 
Make this the day. 
Dust, alas, no musick feels 
But thy trumpet, then it kneels; 10 

As peculiar notes and strains 
Cure Tarantulaes raging pains. 

Come away, 
O make no stay! 
Let the graves make their confession, 15 
Lest at length they plead possession. 
Fleshes stubbornnesse may have 
Read that lesson to the grave. 



138 IV. MEDITATION 



Come away, 
Thy flock doth stray. 20 

Some to windes their bodie lend, 
And in them may drown a friend; 
Some in noisome vapours grow 
To a plague and publick wo. 

Come away, 25 

Help our decay. 
Man is out of order hurl'd, 
Parcel' d out to all the world. 
Lord, thy broken consort raise. 
And the musick shall be praise. 30 



IV. MEDITATION 139 



JUDGEMENT 

Almightie Judge, how shall poore wretches brook 
Thy dreadful! look, 

Able a heart of iron to appall, 

When thou shalt call 
For ev'ry man's peculiar book ? 6 

What others mean to do, I know not well; 

Yet I heare tell. 
That some will turn thee to some leaves therein 

So void of sinne 
That they in merit shall excell. 10 

But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine, 

That to decline. 
And thrust a Testament into thy hand; 

Let that be scann'd. 14 

There thou shalt finde my faults are thine. 



140 IV. MEDITATION 



HEAVEN 

O WHO will show me those delights on high ? 

Echo. I. 

Thou Echo, thou art mortall, all men know. 

Echo. No. 4 

W^ert thou not born among the trees and leaves ? 

Echo. Leaves. 

And are there any leaves that still abide ? 

Echo. Bide. 

W^hat leaves are they ? Impart the matter wholly. 

Echo. Holy. 10 

Are holy leaves the Echo then of blisse ? 

Echo. Yes. 

Then tell me, what is that supreme delight ? 

Echo. Light. 

Light to the minde; what shall the will enjoy ? 15 

Echo. Joy. 

But are there cares and businesse with the plea- 
sure? 

Echo. Leisure. 

Light, joy, and leisure ; but shall they persever ? 

Echo. Ever. 20 



V 
THE INNER LIFE 



PREFACE 

IN the poems to which I have ventured to give 
the title of The Inner Life we for the first 
time meet the poetic modes most characteristic of 
Herbert's temperament. Other poets before Her- 
bert had written reflective verse, sagaciously in- 
structing or meditating on the perplexing intricacy 
of divine and human things. Southwell, Ralegh, 
Donne, were Herbert's predecessors in such holy 
anatomy. Southwell largely and other men in 
single poems had celebrated the institutions of the 
Church, though conceiving them in no such per- 
sonal way as Herbert. But the religious love- 
lyric, which begins with this Group and fills all the 
remainder except Group VIII, was developed by 
Herbert. Not that the type did not already exist 
in the Latin poetry of the Mediaeval Church. 
Poets, too, of France and Germany had again and 
again put tender communings with God into their 
vernacular speech. In England translations of the 
Psalms were common, and Hymns — the average 
pious utterance of a multitude — were just coming 
into use. Nothing altogether new ever appears on 
earth. The most original writer creates his novelty 
out of what already exists. Yet by bringing tend- 



144 PREFACE TO 

encies to full expression he still genuinely produces. 
So Herbert produced a new species of English 
poetry, a species so common since his time and 
through his influence that we now forget that a 
Herbert was required for its production. 

The character of this new poetry, I have else- 
where fully discussed and I need here only 
summarize it. Herbert^s immediate predecessors 
had developed the love-lyric to an exquisite and 
often artificial perfection. As the mediaeval painter 
found a set subject in the Madonna and Child, and 
to a subject not his own gave his personal stamp 
through small refinements of treatment, so did the 
Elizabethan and Jacobean poet find in the lan- 
guishing lover a subject set to his hand. That the 
poets themselves did sometimes veritably languish, 
no one will doubt. But whether instructed by expe- 
rience or engaged in exploiting a theme, they one 
and all bring before us the exalted lady with a 
heart colder than is nowadays customary, a heart 
which when once engaged is easily alienated, and 
of whose slightest favor the miserable lover knows 
himself to be perpetually unworthy. Through long 
sequences of lyrics — sonnets commonly, less fre- 
quently verse of looser structure — every stage is 
worked out in the slow approach of the undeserv- 
ing to the exalted one. To us moderns, who feel 
but sKghtly the impulse to imaginative construc- 
tion, such detailed exhibits of all the possible 
phases of longing, hope, and despair appear strange 



THE INNER LIFE 145 

when presented by serious and middle-aged men. 
The intellectual fashions of one age are hard for 
another to comprehend. 

To Herbert these fashions were matters of 
course. From them he was able to detach himself 
only sufficiently to condemn the objects loved, but 
not to change the methods of representing love 
itself. A literary artist through and through, 
rejoicing in refinements, feeling no antagonism 
between cool study and vivid emotion, ever ready 
to note whatever shade of feeling a situation de- 
manded and to develop it from germs of his own, 
Herbert brings over into the religious field the 
heart-searchings, the sighs, and the self-accusa- 
tions which hitherto had belonged to secular love. 
Yet he is no trifler. Over-intellectualism is always 
his danger. He merely undertakes to treat as liter- 
ary material the dealings of God and his own heart; 
and in this new field of love he follows the beauti- 
ful shimmering methods which Shakespeare had 
taught him in his devotion to the lovely youth, or 
Spenser in his service of the nameless lady. During 
the interval, too, which parts the second Stuart 
from Elizabeth, the national temper had changed 
and grown profoundly introspective and grave. 
Herbert is contrasted with Breton and Campion as 
Browning with Burns. 

Grouped together here, then, — so far as these 
can be parted from the similarly minded verses of 
preceding sections, — are all the poems which 



146 PREFACE 

Herbert wrote at Cambridge in which his changing 
moods of mind are studied and heightened for the 
purpose of reflecting vicissitudes in his love of 
God. Beginning with a few glad notes, he quickly 
perceives in The Thanksgiving and The Re- 
PRiSALL how incompetent he is at his best to make 
gifts worthy of Him whom he adores. In The Sin- 
ner, Deniall, and Church-Lock and Key, he 
acknowledges that the failure of God to smile upon 
him is due to radical faults in himself; faults which 
in Nature and Repentance seem to connect 
themselves with specific acts of wrong-doing which 
in the Bemerton days the third stanza of The 
Pilgrimage recalls. The poems which follow are 
akin to these in their lamentations of instability. At 
the close I have hung that wreathed garland which 
he hopes may even in his crooked^ winding wayes 
express his tender reverence. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 147 



OUR LIFE IS HID WITH CHRIST IN 
GOD 

(COLOSSIANS III, 3) 

My words and thoughts do both expresse this 

notion, 
That Li^e hath with the sun a double motion; 
The first Is straight, and our diurnall friend, 
The other Hid^ and doth obHquely bend. 
One life is wrapt In flesh, and tends to earth; 5 
The other winds towards Him whose happie birth 
Taught me to live here so That still one eye 
Should aim and shoot at that which Is on high, 
Quitting with daily labour all My pleasure, 
To gain at harvest an eternall Treasure. 10 



148 V. THE INNER LIFE 



MATTENS 

I CANNOT ope mine eyes 
But thou art ready there to catch 
My morning-soul and sacrifice; 
Then we must needs for that day make a match . 

My God, what is a heart ? 5 

Silver, or gold, or precious stone, 
Or starre, or rainbow, or a part 
Of all these things, or all of them in one ? 

My God, what is a heart, 9 

That thou shouldst it so eye and wooe, 
Po wring upon it all thy art. 
As if that thou hadst nothing els to do ? 

Indeed man's whole estate 
Amounts (and richly) to serve thee. 14 

He did not heav'n and earth create. 
Yet studies them, not him by whom they be. 

Teach me thy love to know, 
That this new light, which now I see. 

May both the work and workman 
show. 
Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee. 20 



V. THE INNER LIFE 149 



THE THANKSGIVING 

Oh King of grief ! (A title strange, yet true, 

To thee of all kings onely due.) 
Oh King of wounds ! How shall I grieve for thee, 

Who in all grief preventest me ? 
Shall I weep bloud ? Why thou hast wept such 
store 5 

That all thy body was one doore. 
Shall I be scourged, flouted, boxed, sold ? 

'T is but to tell the tale is told. 
My God, my God, why dost thou "part from me ? 

Was such a grief as cannot be. 10 

Shall I then sing, skipping thy dolefuU storie, 

And side with thy triumphant glorie ? 
Shall thy strokes be my stroking? Thorns, my 
flower ? 

Thy rod, my posie ? Crosse, my bower ? 



150 V. THE INNER LIFE 



But how then shall I imitate thee and 15 

Copie thy fair, though bloudie hand ? 
Surely I will revenge me on thy love. 

And trie who shall victorious prove. 
If thou dost give me wealth, I will restore 

All back unto thee by the poore. 20 

If thou dost give me honour, men shall see 

The honour doth belong to thee. 
I will not marry; or, if she be mine. 

She and her children shall be thine. 
My bosome friend if he blaspheme thy name, 

I will tear thence his love and fame. 26 
One half of me being gone, the rest I give 

Unto some Chappell, die or live. 
As for thy passion — But of that anon, 

When with the other I have done. 30 
For thy predestination I'le contrive 

That three yeares hence, if I survive, 
I'le build a spittle, or mend common wayes, 

But mend mine own without delayes. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 151 



Then I will use the works of thy creation 35 

As if I us'd them but for fashion. 
The world and I will quarrell, and the yeare 

Shall not perceive that I am here. 
My musick shall finde thee, and ev'ry string 

Shall have his attribute to sing, 40 

That all together may accord in thee. 

And prove one God, one harmonic. 
It thou shalt give me wit, it shall appeare; 

If thou hast giv'n it me, 't is here. 44 
Nay, I will reade thy book and never move 

Till I have found therein thy love, 
Thy art of love, which I'le turn back on thee: 

O my deare Saviour, Victorie! 
Then for thy passion — I will do for that — 

Alas, my God, I know not what. 50 



152 V. THE INNER LIFE 



THE REPRISALL 

I HAVE consider' d it, and finde 
There is no dealing with thy mighty passion; 

For though I die for thee, I am behinde. 
My sinnes deserve the condemnation. 

O make me innocent, that I 5 

May give a disentangled state and free. 

And yet thy wounds still my attempts defie, 
For by thy death I die for thee. 

Ah, was it not enough that thou 
By thy eternall glorie didst outgo me ? 10 

Couldst thou not grief's sad conquests me allow, 
But in all vict'ries overthrow me ? 

Yet by confession will I come 
Into the conquest. Though I can do nought 

Against thee, in thee I will overcome 15 

The man who once against thee fought. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 153 



THE SINNER 

Lord, how I am all ague when I seek 

What I have treasur'd in my memorie! 
Since if my soul make even with the week. 

Each seventh note by right is due to thee. 
I finde there quarries of pil'd vanities, 5 

But shreds of holinesse, that dare not venture 
To shew their face, since crosse to thy decrees. 

There the circumference earth is, heav'n the 
centre. 
In so much dregs the quintessence is small; 

The spirit and good extract of my heart 10 

Comes to about the many hundredth part. 
Yet Lord restore thine image, heare my call! 

And though my hard heart scarce to thee can 
grone, 

Remember that thou once didst v/rite in stone. 



154 V. THE INNER LIFE 



DENIALL 

When my devotions could not pierce 
Thy silent eares, 
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse. 
My breast was full of fears 

And disorder. 5 

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow, 
Did flie asunder. 
Each took his way: some would to pleasures go, 
Some to the warres and thunder 

Of alarms. 10 

As good go any where, they say. 
As to benumme 
Both knees and heart in crying night and day, 
Comey come, my God, O cornel 

But no hearing. 15 



V. THE INNER LIFE 155 



O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue 
To crie to thee, 
And then not heare it crying! All day long 
My heart was in my knee. 

But no hearing. 20 

Therefore my soul lay out of sight, 
Untun'd, unstrung. 
My feeble spirit, unable to look right. 
Like a nipt blossome hung 

Discontented. 25 



O cheer and tune my heartlesse breast, 
Deferre no time. 
That so thy favours granting my request. 
They and my minde may chime. 

And mend my ryme. 30 



156 V. THE INNER LIFE 



CHURCH-LOCK AND KEY 

I KNOW it is my sinne which locks thine eares 

And bindes thy hands, 
Out-crying my requests, drowning my tears. 
Or else the chilnesse of my faint demands. 

But as cold hands are angrie with the fire 5 

And mend it still, 
So I do lay the want of my desire 

Not on my sinnes or coldnesse, but thy will. 

Yet heare, O God, onely for his bloud's sake 

Which pleads for me; 10 

For though sinnes plead too, yet like stones they 
make 
His bloud's sweet current much more loud to 
be. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 157 



NATURE 

Full of rebellion, I would die. 
Or fight, or travell, or denie 
That thou hast ought to do with me. 
O tame my heart! 
It is thy highest art 5 

To captivate strong holds to thee. 

If thou shalt let this venome lurk 
And in suggestions fume and work. 
My soul will turn to bubbles straight, 

And thence by kinde 10 

Vanish into a winde, 
Making thy workmanship deceit. 

O smooth my rugged heart, and there 
Engrave thy rev'rend law and fear! 
Or make a new one, since the old 15 

Is saplesse grown, 
And a much fitter stone 
To hide my dust then thee to hold. 



158 V. THE INNER LIFE 



REPENTANCE 



Lord, I confesse my sinne is great; 
Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat 
With thy quick flow'r, thy momentanie bloom, 
Whose life still pressing 
Is one undressing, 5 

A steadie aiming at a tombe. 

Man's age is two houres' work, or three. 
Each day doth round about us see. 
Thus are we to delights ; but we are all 

To sorrows old, 10 

If life be told 
From what Hfe fceleth, Adam's fall. 

O let thy height of mercie then 
Compassionate short-breathed men! 14 

Cut me not off for my most foul transgression. 
I do confesse 
My f oolishnesse ; 
My God, accept of my confession. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 159 



Sweeten at length this bitter bowl 
Which thou hast pour'd into my soul. 20 

Thy wormwood turn to health, windes to fair 
weather; 

For if thou stay, 
I and this day, 
As we did rise, we die together. 

When thou for sinne rebukest man, 25 

Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan. 
Bitternesse fills our bowels; all our hearts 
Pine and decay, 
And drop away. 
And Carrie with them th' other parts. 30 

But thou wilt sinne and grief destroy, 
That so the broken bones may joy, 
And tune together in a well-set song, 
Full of his praises 
Who dead men raises. 35 

Fractures well cur'd make us more strong. 



160 V. THE INNER LIFE 

UNKINDNESSE 

Lord, make me coy and tender to offend. 
In friendship, first I think if that agree 
Which I intend 

Unto my friend's intent and end. 
I would not use a friend as I use Thee. 5 

If any touch my friend, or his good name. 
It is my honour and my love to free 
His blasted fame 

From the least spot or thought of blame. 
I could not use a friend as I use Thee. 10 

My friend may spit upon my curious floore. 
Would he have gold? I lend it instantly; 
But let the poore, 

And thou within them, starve at doore. 
I cannot use a friend as I use Thee. 15 

When that my friend pretendeth to a place, 
I quit my interest and leave it free. 
But when thy grace 

Sues for my heart, I thee displace, 
Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee. 20 

Yet can a friend what thou hast done fulfill ? 
O write in brasse. My God upon a tree 
His bloud did spill 

Onely to purchase my good-will; 
Yet use I not my joes as I use thee. 25 



V. THE INNER LIFE 161 



GRACE 

My stock lies dead, and no increase 
Doth my dull husbandrie improve. 
O let thy graces without cease 

Drop from above! 

If still the sunne should hide his face, 5 

Thy house would but a dungeon prove, 
Thy works night's captives. O let grace 
Drop from above! 

The dew doth ev'ry morning fall, 

And shall the dew out-strip thy dove ? 10 
The dew, for which grasse cannot call. 
Drop from above. 

Death is still working hke a mole, 

And digs my grave at each remove; 
Let grace work too, and on my soul 15 

Drop from above. 

Sinne is still hammering my heart 

Unto a hardnesse void of love; 
Let suppling grace, to crosse his art. 

Drop from above. 20 

O come ! For thou dost know the way. 

Or if to me thou wilt not move, 
Remove me where I need not say. 

Drop from above. 



162 V. THE INNER LIFE 



THE TEMPER 

It cannot be. Where is that mightie joy 
Which just now took up all my heart ? 
Lord, if thou must needs use thy dart, 

Save that and me, or sin for both destroy. 

The grosser world stands to thy word and art ; 
But thy diviner world of grace 6 

Thou suddenly dost raise and race, 

And ev'ry day a new Creatour art. 

O fix thy chair of grace, that all n!y powers 
May also fix their reverence ; 10 

For when thou dost depart from hence, 

They grow unruly and sit in thy bowers. 

Scatter, or binde them all to bend to thee. 
Though elements change and heaven move, 
Let not thy higher Court remove, 15 

But keep a standing Majestic in me. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 163 



THE TEMPER 

How should I praise thee, Lord! How should 
my rymes 
Gladly engrave thy love in steel, 
If what my soul doth feel sometimes, 

My soul might ever feel! 4 

Although there were some fourtie heav'ns, or more, 
Sometimes I peere above them all; 
Sometimes I hardly reach a score. 
Sometimes to hell I fall. 

O rack me not to such a vast extent, 

Those distances belong to thee. 10 

The world's too little for thy tent, 
A grave too big for me. 



164 V. THE INNER LIFE 



Wilt thou meet arms with man, that thou dost 
stretch 
A crumme of dust from heav'n to hell ? 
Will great God measure with a wretch ? 15 

Shall he thy stature spell ? 

O let me, when thy roof my soul hath hid, 

O let me roost and nestle there; 
Then of a sinner thou art rid. 

And I of hope and fear. 20 

Yet take thy way, for sure thy way is best, 

Stretch or contract me thy poore debter. 
This is but tuning of my breast. 

To make the musick better. 

Whether I flie with angels, fall with dust, 25 

Thy hands made both, and I am there. 
Thy power and love, my love and trust, 
Make one place ev'ry where. 



V. THE INNER LIFE 165 



A WREATH 

A WREATHED garland of deserved praise. 

Of praise deserved, unto thee I give, 
I give to thee who knowest all my wayes. 

My crooked winding wayes, wherein I live. 
Wherein I die, not live; for Hfe is straight, 5 

Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee, 
To thee, who art more farre above deceit 

Then deceit seems above simplicitie. 
Give me simplicitie, that I may live; 9 

So live and like, that I may know, thy wayes, 
Know them and practise them. Then shall I give 

For this poore wreath, give thee a crown of 
praise- 



VI 

THE CRISIS 



PREFACE 

ANEW period in the life of Herbert now 
begins, a period marked by a change of resi- 
dence and covering approximately the years 1626- 
30. During these years the opposing forces of his 
nature came into open conflict and brought him 
distress of mind and of body. 

By birth, temperament, and many circumstances 
of his life, Herbert was impelled to a life of fasliion, 
enjoyment, and irresponsible self-culture. "He 
took content in beauty, wit, musick and pleasant 
conversation." He knew the ways of learning, 
honor, and pleasure. Easily he answered to the 
calls of honour, riches, and fair eyes. Coming of 
a noble family, Walton says, "he kept himself at 
too great a distance with all his inferiours, and 
his cloaths seemd to prove that he put too great 
a value on his parts and Parentage." His early 
biographer, Oley, despairs of describing "that 
person of his, which afforded so unusual a contes- 
saration of elegancies and singularities to the be- 
holder." His eldest brother, Edward, after years 
of romantic adventure on the Continent, was 
appointed ambassador to the French Court. His 
favorite brother, Henry, was Master of the Revels 
at the English Court. Three other brothers were 



170 PREFACE TO 

in the public service. Several powerful noblemen 
besides his great kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, 
were his patrons. He was often at Court or with his 
uncle, the Earl of Danby. He indulged "a genteel 
humour for cloaths and Court-like company, and 
seldom look'd towards Cambridge unless the King 
were there, but then he never fail'd." In short, 
the favor of the great, the glitter of society, the 
quick returns of courtesie and wit, and all elegancies 
of speech, dress, and living, were congenial to him. 
On one side of his nature Herbert was a brilliant 
man of the world, a richly endowed child of the 
Renaissance. 

Such a temperament inevitably induced secu- 
lar ambition. After a time a bookish life became 
repulsive ; for Herbert felt his powers, hated stag- 
nation, and delighted in intellectual activity. In 
1619, when he was well under way with his divin- 
ity studies, he turned aside to seek the Orator- 
ship. This office he held for eight years. But he 
sought also to become an assistant Secretary of 
State. The Oratorship was the natural stepping- 
stone. Of the two preceding Orators, Sir Robert 
Naunton became Secretary of State, and Sir 
Francis Nethersole Secretary to the Queen of 
Bohemia. Sir Robert Creighton, who followed 
Herbert, became a Bishop. Both predecessor and 
successor at Bemerton became Bishops. But in 
1625 Herbert's political hopes approached an end; 
for in that year the king died, and within the 



THE CRISIS 171 

following year the whole group of nobles, Lord 
Bacon included, to whom Herbert had looked for 
support. A year later came the saddest death of 
all, that of his mother. Herbert immediately re- 
signed the Oratorship, and seriously faced the 
problems which a disorganized life had induced. 
Up to about 1627 he had blindly drifted — under 
the guidance of what Walton styles "his natural 
elegance of behaviour, tongue, and pen" — toward 
social eminence. The hking for stately pleasures 
and fashionable distinction had ever a strong, and 
hitherto a controlling, influence over him. But the 
changed conditions brought about by the death of 
his friends set free another force which he had 
always felt as profounder and more really authori- 
tative, the force of religion, — religion to be exer- 
cised in the service of the Church. From childhood 
Herbert knew himself to be a dedicated soul, and 
inwardly, even in his most dilatory waywardness, 
he approved the dedication. Side by side with his 
fashionable tastes he had a veritable genius for 
religion. His feeble frame precluded his entering 
the army or any hardy profession. Oley says that 
*'he was dedicated to serve God in his sanctuary 
before he was born." In The Glance he himself 
tells how in the midst of youth he had felt God's 
gracious eye look on him. At Westminster School 
questions of religious controversy had engaged 
him. In a letter of 1617 he speaks of now setting 
foot into Divinity, to lay the platform of my future 



172 PREFACE TO 

life, and thus of obeying that spirit which hath 
guided me hitherto, and of atchieving my holy ends. 
In a letter of 1622 to his mother he fears sickness 
as something which has made him unable to per- 
form those offices for which I came into the world 
and must yet be kept in it. Of the poems printed in 
the first five Groups, a majority must have been 
written during these very years of courtly aspira- 
tion. Such incongruities were not exceptional in 
men of the later Renaissance, nor is there the least 
reason to doubt that underneath all his gay- 
nesses he truly loved God. His God — a poet's 
God — was highly personal, individual even; but 
only in union with Him could Herbert find peace. 
His very wealth of nature made him feel the more 
keenly the weight of chance desires. Beauty and 
order were in his Platonic soul. He did not wish 
to be his own master, but rather through divine 
obedience to escape from personal caprice. 

Early, too, in his boyhood, through his conse- 
cration to the priesthood by his pious and master- 
ful mother, he had formed an inseparable associa- 
tion between being holy and becoming a priest. 
Whether this association was wise, we need not ask. 
It controlled Herbert's life, and hence is important 
to understand. Catholics sometimes speak of the 
call "to become a religious;" by which phrase 
they intend not merely becoming heavenly minded, 
but becoming a monk or nun. The two aims are 
in their thought indistinguishable. I have known 



THE CRISIS 173 

Protestant young persons who thought they must 
withhold their hearts from God until they should 
be wilhng to become missionaries, or to meet some 
other external standard which in a more or less 
arbitrary way had become connected in their minds 
with hohness. Entering the priesthood was Her- 
bert's test, and in his instinctive thought it was 
fully identified with allegiance to God. In terms 
of it allegiance and faithlessness were estimated. 
While he always professedly maintained this ulti- 
mate purpose, whenever he felt responsibility irk- 
some and was incHned to drift with the fashiona- 
ble tide, he found excuses for delaying the great 
act. And when he experienced the emptiness of 
Hving by the day and longed for the eternal, the 
call to the priesthood became once more impera- 
tive. Little can be understood in the verse or Hfe 
of Herbert unless we bear in mind that in his 
consciousness there was complete identification of 
submission to God and acceptance of the priest- 
hood. 

Such, then, are the opposing forces, long at work, 
whose fierce and open conflict at a crisis period 
Herbert here records. The love of elegant plea- 
sure, whose issue is secular ambition, contends 
with the love of God, whose embodiment is the 
priesthood. Both are alike unforced and genuine 
passions. Rightly or wrongly they are regarded by 
Herbert as fundamentally incompatible. He never 
doubts which of the two must ultimately win, but 



174 PREFACE TO 

at any particular moment he dreads the final deci- 
sion. My soul doth love thee, yet it loves delay. The 
man is double-minded. In such a struggle, with- 
out regard to whether we approve the assumed 
antithesis, we must see that there is magnificent 
poetic material. Such Herbert found it. As an 
artist, in whom feeling is not falsified by represen- 
tation, he watched every stage of the contest and 
recorded it with poignant splendor. Peculiar and 
possibly distorted emotions which sprang up in 
a single mind under special conditions of time, 
family, and belief, he fashioned into pictures of 
such universal and perpetual beauty that men of 
alien ideals have for three centuries been able 
to find in these experiences subtle interpretations 
of their own. 

Ellis, in his Specimens of EngHsh Poetry, re- 
marks that " nature intended Herbert for a knight- 
errant, but disappointed ambition made him a 
saint." That is as misleading a half-truth as Fer- 
rar's declaration in his Epistle to the Reader that 
Herbert was impelled altogether by "inward en- 
forcements, for outward there was none." While 
unquestionably the priesthood was his accepted 
aim from childhood, he spent most of the last third 
of his life in trying to avoid it, and it is doubtful 
if he would ever have reached it had not events 
between 1625 and 1629 obstructed other courses. 
His inclination to enter the service of God, how- 
ever, was just as genuine as was his disposition to 



THE CRISIS 175 

find excuses for delay. He could not go away nor 
'persevere. That is his own judgment as expressed 
in his three principal autobiographic poems, — 
Affliction, included in this Group, Love Un- 
known and The Pilgrimage of Group IX. 

In an essay on the Life of Herbert I have gone 
over the events of this Crisis period with some care, 
and shown how they cooperated to bring about his 
final decision for the priesthood. Epitomizing 
them here, I may mention the increased interest in 
religious things, partly causing and partly caused 
by his rebuilding of Leighton Church; the wreck 
of his political hopes, brought about by the death of 
the King and his own noble patrons ; the reproach- 
ful loss of his mother, who had been his chief 
incitement to the priesthood ; the resignation of 
the Oratorship, and his withdrawal from the Uni- 
versity. The mental conflicts attending these 
events threw him into serious illness. He went into 
retirement. A severe course of fasting saved his 
life, but left his health shattered. During this 
retirement the poems constituting the present 
Group, with possibly a few included in earlier 
Groups, were written. Near the close of the period, 
in March, 1629, at Edingdon Church, he suddenly 
married Jane Danvers, a daughter of the cousin 
of his stepfather. There is no mention of her in 
his verse, unless in one dark line of The Pil- 
grimage. 

When, in 1630, the Rectory of Fuggleston-cum- 



176 PREFACE TO 

Bemerton became vacant, the Earl of Pembroke 
induced the King to offer it to George Herbert. 
Though Herbert had already "put on a resolution 
for the Clergy,'* a month's hesitation followed. 
Then at a friend's persuasion he paid a visit to the 
Earl at Wilton House, where at that time the King 
and Laud also were. " That night," says Walton, 
" the Earl acquainted Dr. Laud with his Kinsman's 
irresolution. And the Bishop did the next day 
so convince Mr. Herbert that the refusal of it was 
a sin, that a Taylor was sent for to come speedily 
from SaUsbury to Wilton to take measure and make 
him Canonical Cloaths against next day; which the 
Taylor did ; and Mr. Herbert being so habited, 
went with his presentation to the learned Dr. Dav- 
enant, who was then Bishop of Salisbury, and he 
gave him Institution immediately." This was April 
26, 1630. Five months later he received formal 
Ordination and came to live at Bemerton. He had 
just reached his thirty-eighth year when he began 
to carry out his lifelong purpose. 

At the beginning of the Group which describes 
this struggle I place Easter Wings and the long 
Affliction ; the latter written, I believe, as late 
as 1628 and well summarizing the whole period 
of turmoil. Three poems follow, expressing politi- 
cal disappointment and the sense of depression 
in being cast aside. In two or three pieces there is 
repentance for a particular past sin. Then begins 
the debate over taking final Orders, extending 



THE CRISIS 177 

through half a dozen pieces and culminating in 
Peace, The Pearl, Obedience, The Rose, and 
An Offering. The Series closes with two songs 
of gladness and one of tender distrust of his own 
desert. 



178 VI. THE CRISIS 



EASTER WINGS 



B 






St B 3 - .^. i p g- ^ 

S'^ o 5^' B 5 ^ B 



5 ^ c 



B 



CO O 



F- a - ^- ^ :^ 



VI. THE CRISIS 



179 



EASTER WINGS 



'X B 



S- -. 2- 
p B I- 

Q 3 <! 



B ^ 



g- ? ^ e-. ^ ^ 



B B 



^ Cfl O 



fD 


















(» 



180 VI. THE CRISIS 



AFFLICTION 

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart, 
I thought the service brave; 

So many joyes I writ down for my part, 
Besides what I might have 

Out of my stock of naturall dehghts, 5 

Augmented with thy gracious benefits. 

I looked on thy furniture so fine, 

And made it fine to me; 

Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine, 

And 'tice me unto thee. 10 

Such starres I counted mine; both heav'n and 
earth 

Payd me my wages in a world of mirth. 



VI. THE CRISIS 181 



What pleasures could I want whose King I served ? 

Where joyes my fellows were. 
Thus argu'd into hopes, my thoughts reserved 15 

No place for grief or fear. 
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place. 
And made her youth and fiercenesse seek thy face. 

At first thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses; 

I had my wish and way. 20 

Mydayes were straw'dwithflow'rs and happinesse, 

There was no moneth but May. 
But with my yeares sorrow did twist and grow, 
And made a partie unawares for wo. 

My flesh began unto my soul in pain, 25 

Sicknesses cleave my bones; 

Consuming agues dwell in ev'ry vein, 

And tune my breath to grones. 

Sorrow was all my soul; I scarce beleeved. 

Till grief did tell me roundly, that I Hved. 30 



182 VI. THE CRISIS 



When I got health thou took'st away my life, 
And more; for my friends die. 

My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife 

Was of more use then I. 34 

Thus thinne and lean, without a fence or friend, 

I was blown through with ev'ry storm and winde. 

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took 

The way that takes the town, 

Thou didst betray me to a lingring book 

And wrap me in a gown. 40 

I was entangled in the world of strife 

Before I had the power to change my life. 

Yet, for I threatned oft the siege to raise. 
Not simpring all mine age. 

Thou often didst with Academick praise 45 

Melt and dissolve my rage. 

I took thy sweetned pill till I came neare; 

I could not go away, nor persevere. 



VI. THE CRISIS 183 



Yet lest perchance I should too happie be 

In my unhappinesse, 50 

Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me 
Into more sicknesses. 

Thus doth thy power crosse-bias me, not making 

Thine own gift good, yet me from my wayes taking. 

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me 55 
None of my books will show. 

I reade, and sigh, and wish I were a tree. 
For sure then I should grow 

To fruit or shade. At least some bird would trust 

Her houshold to me, and I should be just. 60 

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek; 

In weaknesse must be stout. 
Well, I will change the service and go seek 

Some other master out. 
Ah my deare God! Though I am clean forgot. 
Let me not love thee if I love thee not. 66 



184 VI. THE CRISIS 



EMPLOYMENT 



If as a flowre doth spread and die, 

Thou wouldst extend me to some good, 
Before I were by frost's extremitie 

Nipt in the bud, 

The sweetnesse and the praise were thine, 5 

But the extension and the room 
Which in thy garland I should fill, were mine 

At thy great doom. 

For as thou dost impart thy grace, 

The greater shall our glorie be. 10 

The measure of our joyes is in this place, 

The stuffe with thee. 

Let me not languish then, and spend 

A life as barren to thy praise 
As is the dust to which that life doth tend, 15 

But with delaies. 

All things are busie; onely I 

Neither bring hony with the bees, 
Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie 

To water these. 20 

I am no link of thy great chain. 

But all my companie is a weed. 
Lord place me in thy consort; give one strain 

To my poore reed. 



VI. THE CRISIS 185 



THE ANSWER 

My comforts drop and melt away like snow. 

I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends. 
Which my fierce youth did bandie, fall and flow 

Like leaves about me ; or like summer friends, 
Flyes of estates and sunne-sliine. But to all 5 

Who think me eager, hot, and undertaldng, 
But in my prosecutions slack and small — 

As a young exhalation, newly waking. 
Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the sky, 

But cooling by the way, grows pursie and slow, 
And setling to a cloud, doth live and die 11 

In that dark state of tears — to all that so 
Show me and set me, I have one reply: 
Which they that know the rest, know more then L 



186 VI. THE CRISIS 



CONTENT 

Peace mutt'ring thoughts, and do not grudge to 
keep 

Within the walls of your own breast. 
Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep, 

Can on another's hardly rest. 

Gad not abroad at ev'ry quest and call 5 

Of an untrained hope or passion. 

To court each place or fortune that doth fall 
Is wantonnesse in contemplation. 

Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie, 

Content and warm t' it self alone; 10 

But when it would appeare to others' eye. 
Without a knock it never shone. 

Give me the pliant minde, whose gentle measure 
Complies and suits with all estates; 

Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with plea- 
sure 15 
Take up within a cloister's gates. 



VI. THE CRISIS 187 



This soul doth span the world, and hang content 
From either pole unto the centre; 

Where in each room of the well-furnisht tent 19 
He lies warm and without adventure. 

The brags of life are but a nine dayes' wonder. 

And after death the fumes that spring 
From private bodies make as big a thunder 

As those which rise from a huge King. 

Onely thy Chronicle is lost; and yet 25 

Better by worms be all once spent 

Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret 
Thy name in books, which may not rent: 

When all thy deeds, whose brunt thou feel'st alone, 
xALre chaw'd by others' pens and tongue; 

And as their wit is, their digestion, 31 

Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong. 

Then cease discoursing, soul. Till thine own 
ground. 

Do not thy self or friends importune. 
He that by seeking hath himself once found 35 

Uath ever found a happie fortune. 



188 VI. THE CRISIS 



VANITIE 

PooRE silly soul, whose hope and head lies low, 
Whose flat delights on earth do creep and grow, 
To whom the starres shine not so fair as eyes, 
Nor solid work as false embroyderies ; 
Heark and beware, lest what you now do mea- 
sure 5 
And write for sweet, prove a most sowre displea- 
sure. 
O heare betimes, lest thy relenting 

May come too late! 
To purchase heaven for repenting 

Is no hard rate. 10 

If souls be made of earthly mold, 
Let them love gold; 
If born on high. 
Let them unto their kindred flie. 
For they can never be at rest 15 

Till they regain their ancient nest. 
Then silly soul take heed, for earthly joy 
Is but a bubble and makes thee a boy. 



VI. THE CRISIS 189 



FRAILTIE 

Lord, in my silence how do I despise 

What upon trust 
Is styled honour^ riches, or fair eyes. 
But is fair dust! 
I surname them guilded clay, 5 

Deare earth, fine grasse or hay. 
In all, I think my foot doth ever tread 
Upon their head. 

But when I view abroad both Regiments, 

The world's and thine; 10 
Thine clad with simplenesse and sad events, 
The other fine, 
Full of glorie and gay weeds. 
Brave language, braver deeds; 14 

That which was dust before doth quickly rise. 
And prick mine eyes. 

O brook not this, lest if what even now 

My foot did tread. 
Affront those joyes wherewith thou didst endow 
And long since wed 20 

My poore soul, ev'n sick of love, 
It may a Babel prove 
Commodious to conquer heav'n and thee 
Planted in me. 



190 VI. THE CRISIS 



ARTILLERIE 

As I one ev'ning sat before my cell, 

Me thoughts a starre did shoot into my lap. 
I rose and shook my clothes, as knowing well 
That from small fires comes oft no small mishap. 
When suddenly I heard one say, 5 

Do as thou usest, disobey, 
Expell good motions from thy breast 
Which have the face of fire, but end in rest. 

I, who had heard of musick in the spheres, 9 

But not of speech in starres, began to muse. 
But turning to my God, whose ministers 
The starres and all things are, If I refuse, 
Dread Lord, said I, so oft my good. 
Then I refuse not ev'n with bloud 
To wash away my stubborn thought; 15 

For I will do or suffer what I ought. 



VI. THE CRISIS 191 



But I have also starres and shooters too, 

Born where thy servants both artilleries use. 
My tears and prayers night and day do wooe 
And work up to thee, yet thou dost refuse. 20 
Not but I am (I must say still) 
Much more oblig'd to do thy will 
Then thou to grant mine, but because 
Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thy laws. 

Then we are shooters both, and thou dost deigne 
To enter combate with us and contest 26 

With thine own clay. But 1 would parley fain. 
Shunne not my arrows, and behold my breast. 
Yet if thou shunnest, I am thine; 
I must be so, if I am mine. 30 

There is no articling with thee. 
I am but finite, yet thine infinitely. 



192 VI. THE CRISIS 



THE STARRE 

Bright spark, shot from a brighter place, 
Where beams surround my Saviour's face. 
Canst thou be any where 
So well as there ? 

Yet if thou wilt from thence depart, 5 

Take a bad lodging in my heart; 

For thou canst make a debter. 
And make it better. 

First with thy fire-work bum to dust 

Folly, and worse then folly, lust. 10 

Then with thy light refine, 
And make it shine: 

So disengag'd from sinne and sicknesse, 
Touch it with thy celestiall quicknesse, 

That it may hang and move 15 

After thy love. 



VI. THE CRISIS 193 



Then with our trinitie of light, 

Motion, and heat, let's take our jflight 
Unto the place where thou 

Before didst bow. 20 

Get me a standing there, and place 

Among the beams which crown the face 
Of him who dy'd to part 
Sinne and my heart. 

That so among the rest I may 25 

Gutter, and curie, and winde as they; 
That winding is their fashion 
Of adoration. 

Sure thou wilt joy, by gaining me, 

To flie home hke a laden bee 30 

Unto that hive of beams 
And garland-streams. 



194 VI. THE CRISIS 



DIALOGUE 

Sweetest Saviour, if my soul 

Were but worth the having, 
Quickly should I then controll 

Any thought of waving. 
But when all my care and pains 5 

Cannot give the name of gains 
To thy wretch so full of stains, 
What dehght or hope remains ? 

What (childe) is the hallance thine. 

Thine the poise and measure ? 10 

// / say. Thou shalt he miney 
Finger not my treasure. 

What the gains in having thee 

Do amount to, onely he 

Who for man was sold can see, 15 

That transferred th" accounts to me. 



VI. THE CRISIS 195 



But as I can see no merit 

Leading to this favour. 
So the way to fit me for it 

Is beyond my savour. 20 

As the reason then is thine, 
So the way is none of mine. 
I disclaim the whole designe, 
Sinne disclaims, and I resigne. 

That is all, if that I could 25 

Get without refining ; 
And my clay, my creature, would 

Follow my resigning. 
That as I did freely part 
With my glorie and desert, 30 

Left all joyes to feel all smart — 

Ah, no more ! Thou break'st my heart. 



196 VI. THE CRISIS 



THE PRIESTHOOD 

Blest Order, which in power dost so excell 

That with th' one hand thou hftest to the sky, 

And with the other throwest down to hell 

In thy just censures; fain would I draw nigh. 

Fain put thee on, exchanging my lay-sword 5 
For that of th' holy word. 

But thou art fire, sacred and hallow'd fire, 
And I but earth and clay. Should I presume 

To wear thy habit, the severe attire 

My slender compositions might consume. 10 

I am both foul and brittle, much unfit 
To deal in holy Writ. 

Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand 

And force of fire, what curious things are made 

Of wretched earth. Where once I scorn'd to stand. 
That earth is fitted by the fire and trade 16 

Of skilfull artists for the boards of those 

Who make the bravest shows. 



VI. THE CRISIS 197 

But since those great ones, be they ne're so great, 
Come from the earth from whence those vessels 
come ; 20 

So that at once both feeder, dish, and meat 

Have one beginning and one finall summe; 
I do not greatly wonder at the sight. 

If earth in earth delight. 

But th' holy men of God such vessels are 25 

As serve him up who all the world commands. 
When God vouchsafeth to become our fare. 
Their hands convey him who conveys their 
hands. 
O what pure things, most pure, must those things be 
Who bring my God to me! 

Wlierefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand 31 

To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake 
Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of our 
land. 
Onely since God doth often vessels make 
Of lowly matter for high uses meet, 35 

I throw me at his feet. 

There will I lie untill my Maker seek 

For some mean stuff e whereon to show his skill. 

^hen is my time. The distance of the meek 39 
Doth flatter power. Lest good come short of ill 

In praising might, the poore do by submission 
What pride by opposition. 



198 VI. THE CRISIS 



PEACE 

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly 
crave 

Let me once know. 
I sought thee in a secret cave, 

And ask'd if Peace were there. 
A hollow winde did seem to answer. No: 5 

Go seek elsewhere. 

I did, and going did a rainbow note. 

Surely, thought I, 
This is the lace of Peace's coat, 

I will search out the matter. 10 

But while I lookt, the clouds immediately 
Did break and scatter. 

Then went I to a garden and did spy 
A gallant flower. 
The crown Imperiall. Sure, said I, 15 

Peace at the root must dwell. 
But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devoure 
What show'd so well. 



VI. THE CRISIS 199 

At length I met a rev'rend good old man, 

Whom when for Peace 20 
I did demand, he thus began: 
There was a Prince of old 
At Salem dwelt, who hv'd with good increase 
Of flock and fold. 

He sweetly liv'd, yet sweetnesse did not save 25 
His life from foes. 
But after death out of his grave 

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; 
Which many wondring at, got some of those 

To plant and set. 30 

It prosper'd strangely and did soon disperse 
Through all the earth; 
For they that taste it do rehearse 
That vertue lies therein, 
A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth 35 

By flight of sinne. 

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows 
And grows for you, 
Make bread of it; and that repose 

And peace which ev'rywhere 40 

With so much earnestnesse you do pursue 
Is onely there. 



200 VI. THE CRISIS 

THE PEARL 

(MATTHEW XIII, 45) 

I KNOW the wayes of learning, both the head 

And pipes that feed the presse, and make it 
runne ; 
What reason hath from nature borrowed, 

Or of it self, like a good huswife, spunne 4 
In laws and policie; what the starres conspire; 
What willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire; 

Both th' old discoveries and the new-found seas, 
The stock and surplus, cause and historic; 

All these stand open, or I have the keyes; 

Yet I love thee. 10 

I know the wayes of honour, what maintains 

The quick returns of courtesie and wit; 
In vies of favours whether partie gains 

When glorie swells the heart, and moldeth it 
To all expressions both of hand and eye, 15 

Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie, 

And bear the bundle wheresoe're it goes; 
How many drammes of spirit there must be 

To sell my life unto my friends or foes; 

Yet I love thee. 20 



VI. THE CRISIS 201 



I know the wayes of pleasure, the sweet strains. 

The luUings and the reHshes of it; 
The propositions of hot bloud and brains; 

What mirth and musick mean ; what love and mt 
Have done these twentie hundred yeares and more; 
I know the projects of unbridled store; 26 

My stuffe is flesh, not brasse; my senses live, 
And grumble oft that they have more in me 

Then he that curbs them, being but one to five; 
Yet I love thee. 30 

I know all these and have them in my hand; 

Therefore not sealed but with open eyes 
I flie to thee, and fully understand 

Both the main sale and the commodities; 
And at what rate and price I have thy love, 35 
With all the circumstances that may move. 

Yet through the labyrinths, not my groveling wit. 
But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me 

Did both conduct and teach me how by it 

To climbe to thee. 40 



202 VI. THE CRISIS 



OBEDIENCE 

My God, if writings may 
Convey a Lordship any way 
Whither the buyer and the seller please. 
Let it not thee displease 
If this poore paper do as much as they. 5 

On it my heart doth bleed 
As many lines as there doth need 
To passe it self and all it hath to thee; 
To which I do agree, 
And here present it as my speciall deed. IC 

If that hereafter Pleasure 
Cavill, and claim her part and measure, 
As if this passed with a reservation. 

Or some such words in fashion, 14 

I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure. 

O let thy sacred will 
All thy delight in me fulfill! 
Let me not think an action mine own way, 
But as thy love shall sway. 
Resigning up the rudder to thy skill. 20 



VI. THE CRISIS 203 

Lord, what is man to thee, 
That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree ? 
Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions, 
So great are thy perfections, 24 

Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see. 

Besides, thy death and bloud 
Show'd a strange love to all our good. 
Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer, 

Or superficiall offer 29 

Of what we might not take, or be withstood. 

Wherefore I all forego. 
To one word onely I say. No: 
Where in the deed there was an intimation 
Of a gijt or donation^ 
Lord, let it now by way of purchase go. 35 

He that will passe his land, 
As I have mine, may set his hand 
And heart unto this deed, when he hath read. 
And make the purchase spread 
To both our goods, if he to it will stand. 40 

How happie were my part 
If some kinde man would thrust his heart 
Into these Hues; till in heav'ns court of rolls 
They were by winged souls 
Entred for both, farre above their desert! 45 



204 VI. THE CRISIS 



THE ROSE 

pRESSE me not to take more pleasure 
In tliis world of sugred lies, 

And to use a larger measure 

Then my strict, yet welcome size. 

First, there is no pleasure here; 6 

Colour' d griefs indeed there are. 

Blushing woes, that look as cleare 
As if they could beautie spare. 

Or if such deceits there be. 

Such dehghts I meant to say, 10 

There are no such things to me. 

Who have pass'd my right away. 

But I will not much oppose 

Unto what you now advise, 

Onely take this gentle rose, 15 

And therein my answer hes. 



VI. THE CRISIS 205 



What is fairer then a rose ? 

What is sweeter ? Yet it purgeth. 
Purgings enmitie disclose, 

Enmitie forbearance urgeth. 20 

If then all that worldlings prize 

Be contracted to a rose. 
Sweetly there indeed it Hes, 

But it biteth in the close. 

So this flower doth judge and sentence 25 
Worldly joyes to be a scourge; 

For they all produce repentance, 
And repentance is a purge. 

But I health, not physick choose. 

Onely though I you oppose, 30 

Say that fairly I refuse. 

For my answer is a rose. 



206 VI. THE CRISIS 



AN OFFERING 

Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow 
As men's returns, what would become of fools ? 
What hast thou there ? A heart ? But is it 
pure? 
Search well and see, for hearts have many holes. 
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow. 5 

In Christ two natures met to be thy cure. 

O that within us hearts had propagation, 
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts! 

Yet one, if good, may title to a number. 
And single things grow fruitfull by deserts. 10 
In publick judgements one may be a nation 

And fence a plague, while others sleep and 
slumber. 

But all I fear is lest thy heart displease. 
As neither good nor one. So oft divisions 

Thy lusts have made, and not thy lusts alone ; 
Thy passions also have their set partitions. 16 
These parcell out thy heart. Recover these. 
And thou mayst offer many gifts in one. 



VI. THE CRISIS 207 

There is a balsome, or indeed a bloud, 

Dropping from heav'n, which doth both cleanse 
and close 20 

All sorts of wounds; of such strange force 
it is. 
Seek out this All-heal, and seek no repose 
Untill thou finde and use it to thy good. 

Then bring thy gift, and let thy hymne be 
this: 

Since my sadnesse 25 

Into gladnesse 
Lord thou dost convert, 

O accept 

What thou hast kept, 
As thy due desert. 30 

Had I many, 

Had I any, 
(For this heart is none) 

All were thine 

And none of mine, 35 

Surely thine alone. 

Yet thy favour 

May give savour 
To this poore oblation; 

And it raise 40 

To be thy praise, 
And be my salvation. 



VI. THE CRISIS 



PRAISE 

King of Glorie, King of Peace, 

I will love thee. 
And that love may never cease 

I will move thee. 

Thou hast granted my request, 5 

Thou hast heard me. 

Thou didst note my working breast. 
Thou hast spar'd me. 

Wherefore with my utmost art 

I will sing thee. 10 

And the cream of all my heart 

I will bring thee. 

Though my sinnes against me cried. 
Thou didst cleare me. 

And alone, when they replied, 15 

Thou didst heare me. 



VI. THE CRISIS 



Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven, 

I will praise thee. 
In my heart, though not in heaven, 

I can raise thee. 20 

Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears. 

Thou relentedst; 
And when Justice call'd for fears 

Thou dissentedst. 

Small it is in this poore sort 25 

To enroll thee. 
Ev'n eternitie is too short 

To extoll thee. 



210 VI. THE CRISIS 



LOVE 



Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, 
Guiltie of dust and sinne. 

But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack 
From my first entrance in. 

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 5 

If I lack'd any thing. 

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here. 

Love said, You shall be he. 
I, the unkinde, ungratefull ? Ah my deare, 

I cannot look on thee. 10 

Love took my hand and smiling did reply, 

Who made the eyes but I ? 

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my 
shame 

Go where it doth deserve. 
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the 
blame? 15 

My deare, then I will serve. 
You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my 
meat. 

So I did sit and eat. 



VII 
THE HAPPY PRIEST 



PREFACE 

WITH this Group begins the last and briefest 
period of Herbert's Hfe, a period remark- 
able for its productivity. It extends from his com- 
ing to Bemerton in 1630 to his death in 1633. In it 
The Country Parson was written and most of 
the eighty-six poems which here follow. No poem 
printed in Groups VII-XI is found in the Wilhams 
Manuscript, which I have elsewhere shown to have 
been probably drawn up about 1628. Some of 
these poems may proceed from the last years of 
the Crisis, but as they contain no reference to the 
struggle there described, I have not included them 
in that Group. Some, especially among those 
printed under the heading Bemerton Study, were 
probably written at least in part during the Cam- 
bridge years, and then, either by accident or de- 
sign, were not copied into the manuscript lent to 
Ferrar in 1627-9. But substantially the poems of 
these five Groups are Bemerton poems. Their 
omission from the Williams Manuscript is prima 
facie evidence of date. Nearly all of them, outside 
Group VIII, contain allusions to the priestly 
character of the writer. Emotional depth and 
individual experience will be found in them to 
a degree unknown in the Cambridge period, and 



214 PREFACE TO 

they very generally look back to a past different 
from that in which their author is now living. 

The beginning of the Bemerton life brought to 
Herbert a joyful sense of attainment. The hopes 
of many years seemed now about to be realized. 
The great deed was done. He was no longer cum- 
bered with political, social, or scholarly ties. He 
and God were to be alone, and his one interest 
henceforth was to be the priestly office. He set 
himself with characteristic system to search out all 
the subtle significance which his present tasks 
might contain. His life should be as intellectually 
ordered, as coherent, as beautiful, as compact with 
rich suggestion, as his verse had been before. He 
codified his work ; he studied from day to day 
what were the best ways of performing each petty 
portion of his stately office. 

Walton gives a long account of Herbert's elabo- 
rate rationalization of the English ritual. This ac- 
count is on its face open to doubt. How much of 
it proceeds from Herbert's mind, and how much 
from Walton's, is not clear. Walton had no ac- 
quaintance with Herbert, and this argumentative 
piece of history was written long after Herbert's 
death. Walton's Life, like that by Oley, was ob- 
viously intended to serve the useful purpose of an 
Anti-Puritan tract. But after all deductions, the 
argumentation seems well in keeping with Her- 
bert's general temper. It is ever his way to make 
the most of what he finds at hand. He asks few 



THE HAPPY PRIEST 215 

ultimate questions, but turns all that tradition 
hands down to him into something rich and mean- 
ingful. Throughout this account he justifies the 
services of his Church because of their reasonable- 
ness, and not because they are authoritatively pre- 
scribed; and this is his method in his poems and 
The Country Parson. There, as here, he grounds 
the practices of the collective Church on the needs 
of the individual soul. On the whole, then, I be- 
lieve Walton's pages on ritual may be accepted as 
a fair account of Herbert's disposition during the 
Bemerton years. He tried to bring into action and 
fill with ingenious, independent, and reverent in- 
telligence all the resources of his little world. By 
this poetic development of ritual he sought to do 
for his people what he was at the same time doing 
for himself in The Country Parson. He "made 
it appear to them that the whole Service of the 
Church was a reasonable, and therefore an accept- 
able. Sacrifice to God." Always to his mind the 
way to render life glorious was to stuff every por- 
tion of it with thought, and delightedly to detect 
compacted reason where the dull mind contents 
itself with seeing only plain fact. 

The present Group of poems is the expression of 
exuberant joy in at last reaching a long hoped for 
good. Few other Groups have so lyric a quality. 
After some study of the conditions of the priest- 
hood, he sees that these are all summed up in the 
priest's abandonment of everything that can be 



216 PREFACE 

called his own, and in his full absorption into the 
life of his Master. Such union, the realization of 
thoughts of love which had possessed him for 
many years, throws him into an intellectual ecstasy, 
and song after song is poured out expressing his 
delight. The ordinances of the Church, especially 
those connected with the Holy Supper, get a new 
meaning. The closing day is sacramental, and all 
the world resounds with God's praise. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 217 



THE CALL 

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life: 

Such a Way as gives us breath. 
Such a Truth as ends all strife, 

Such a Life as killeth death. 

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength: 5 

Such a Light as shows a feast. 
Such a Feast as mends in length. 

Such a Strength as makes his guest. 

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart: 

Such a Joy as none can move, 10 

Such a Love as none can part. 
Such a Heart as joyes in love. 



218 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



AARON 

HoLiNESSE on the head, 
Light and perfections on the breast, 
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead 
To leade them unto life and rest; 

Thus are true Aarons drest. 5 

Profanenesse in my head. 
Defects and darknesse in my breast, 
A noise of passions ringing me for dead 
Unto a place where is no rest; 

Poore priest thus am I drest. 10 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 219 



Onely another head 
I have, another heart and breast, 
Another musick, making live not dead, 
Without whom I could have no rest; 

In him I am well drest. 15 

Christ is my onely head, 
My alone onely heart and breast, 
My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead, 
That to the old man I may rest, 

And be in him new drest. 20 

So holy in my head. 
Perfect and Hght in my deare breast, 
My doctrine tun'd by Christ, (who is not dead, 
But lives in me while I do rest,) 

Come people! Aaron's drest. 25 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



THE WINDOWS 

Lord, how can man preach thy etemall word? 
He is a brittle crazie glasse, 

Yet in thy temple thou dost him afford 

This glorious and transcendent place 
To be a window, through thy grace. 5 

But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy storie, 

Making thy hfe to shine within 
The holy Preachers, then the light and glorie 

More rev'rend grows, and more doth 

win; 
Which else shows watrish, bleak, and 
thin. 10 

Doctrine and life, colours and light, in one 

When they combine and mingle, bring 

A strong regard and aw; but speech alone 
Doth vanish like a flaring thing. 
And in the eare, not conscience ring. 15 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 221 



THE HOLDFAST 

I THREATNED to observe the strict decree 

Of my deare God with all my power and 
might. 
But I was told by one it could not be, 

Yet I might trust in God to be my light. 
Then will I trust, said I, in him alone. 5 

Nay, ev'n to trust in him was also his; 
We must confesse that nothing is our own. 

Then I confesse that he my succour is. 
But to have nought is ours, not to confesse 

That we have nought. I stood amaz'd at 
this, 10 

Much troubled, till I heard a friend expresse 

That all things were more ours by being his. 
What Adam had, and forfeited for all, 
Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall. 



222 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 

THE 23 PSALME 

The God of love my shepherd is. 

And he that doth me feed. 
While he is mine and I am his, 

What can I want or need? 

He leads me to the tender grasse, 5 

Where I both feed and rest. 

Then to the streams that gently passe; 
In both I have the best. 

Or if I stray, he doth convert 

And bring my minde in frame. 10 

And all this not for my desert. 

But for his holy name. 

Yea, in death's shadie black abode 

Well may I walk, not fear; 
For thou art with me, and thy rod 15 

To guide, thy staffe to bear. 

Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine 

Ev'n in my enemies' sight. 
My head with oyl, my cup with wine 

Runnes over day and night. 20 

Surely thy sweet and wondrous love 
Shall measure all my dayes; 

And as it never shall remove. 
So neither shall my praise. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 223 

THE ODOUR 

(2 CORINTHIANS II, 15) 

How sweetly doth My Master sound! My Mas- 
ter ! 
As Amber-greese leaves a rich sent 

Unto the taster, 
So do these words a sweet content, 
An orientall fragrancie. My Master. 5 

With these all day I do perfume my minde. 

My minde ev'n thrust into them both, 

That I might finde 
What cordials make this curious broth. 

This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my minde. 

ilf?/ ilfa^ier, shall I speak ? O that to thee 11 
My servant were a little so. 

As flesh may be, 
That these two words might creep and 
grow 
To some degree of spicinesse to thee! 15 



^^ VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



Then should the Pomander, which was before 
A speaking sweet, mend by reflection 

And tell me more; 
For pardon of my imperfection 19 

Would warm and work it sweeter then before. 

For when My Master, which alone is sweet 

And ev'n in my -unworthinesse pleasing. 

Shall call and meet 
My servant, as thee not displeasing. 

That call is but the breathing of the sweet. 25 

This breathing would with gains by sweetning me 
(As sweet things traffick when they meet) 

Return to thee; 
And so this new commerce and sweet 

Should all my hfe employ and busie me. 30 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 225 



A TRUE HYMNE 

My joy, my life, my crown! 
My heart was meaning all the day 

Somewhat it fain would say; 
And still it runneth mutt'ring up and down 
With onely this. My joy, my lije, my crown. 5 

Yet slight not these few words. 
If truly said, they may take part 
Among the best in art. 
The finenesse which a hymne or psalme affords 
Is when the soul unto the Hues accords. 10 

He who craves all the minde. 
And all the soul, and strength, and time. 

If the words onely ryme, 
Justly complains that somewhat is behinde 
To make his verse, or write a hymne in kinde. 

Whereas if th' heart be moved, 16 

Although the verse be somewhat scant, 
God doth supphe the want. 
As when th' heart sayes (sighing to be approved) 
O, could I love I and stops: God writeth, Loved. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



THE POSIE 

Let wits contest, 
And with their words and posies windows fill. 

Lesse then the least 
Of all thy mercies, is my posie still. 

This on my ring, 6 

This by my picture, in my book I write. 

Whether I sing, 
Or say, or dictate, this is my delight. 

Invention rest, 
Comparisons go play, wit use thy will. 10 

Lesse then the least 
Of all God's mercies, is my posie still. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 227 



THE QUIP 

The merrie world did on a day 

With his train-bands and mates agree 

To meet together where I lay, 
And all in sport to geere at me. 

First, Beautie crept into a rose; 6 

Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she, 

Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? 
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then Money came, and chinking still. 

What tune is this, poore man ? said he, 10 

I heard in Musick you had skill. 

But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



Then came brave Glorie puffing by 
In silks that whistled, who but he ? 

He scarce allow'd me half an eie. 15 

But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 

Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
And he would needs a comfort be, 

And, to be short, make an oration. 

But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. 20 

Yet when the houre of thy designe 

To answer these fine things shall come. 

Speak not at large, say, I am thine; 
And then they have their answer home. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 229 



CLASPING OF HANDS 

Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine, 

If mine I am; and thine much more 
Then I or ought or can be mine. 

Yet to be thine doth me restore ; 
So that again I now am mine, 5 

And with advantage mine the more. 
Since this being mine brings with it thine, 

And thou with me dost thee restore. 
If I without thee w^ould be mine, 
I neither should be mine nor thine. 10 

Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine; 

So mine thou art that something more 
I may presume thee mine then thine. 

For thou didst suffer to restore 
Not thee, but me, and to be mine, 15 

And with advantage mine the more. 
Since thou in death wast none of thine, 

Yet then as mine didst me restore. 
O be mine still! Still make me thine! 
Or rather make no Thine and Mine! 



230 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



PARADISE 

I BLESSE thee, Lord, because I grow 
Among thy trees, which in a row 
To thee both fruit and order ow. 

What open force or hidden charm 

Can blast my fruit, or bring me harm, 5 

While the inclosure is thine arm? 

Inclose me still for fear I start. 
Be to me rather sharp and tart 
Then let me want thy hand and art. 9 

When thou dost greater judgements spare. 
And with thy knife but prune and pare, 
Ev'n fruitfuU trees more fruitfull are. 

Such sharpnes shows the sweetest frend, 

Such cuttings rather heal then rend. 

And such beginnings touch their end. 15 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 231 



GRATEFULNESSE 

Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, 

Give one thing more, a gratefull heart. 
See how thy beggar works on thee 

By art. 

He makes thy gifts occasion more, 5 

And sayes. If he in this be crost, 
All thou hast giv'n him heretofore 

Is lost. 

But thou didst reckon, when at first 

Thy word our hearts and hands did crave, 
What it would come to at the worst 11 

To save: 

Perpetuall knockings at thy doore. 

Tears sullying thy transparent rooms, 
Gift upon gift, much would have more, 15 

And comes. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



This notwithstanding, thou wentst on 

And didst allow us all our noise. 
Nay, thou hast made a sigh and grone 

Thy joyes. 20 

Not that thou hast not still above 

Much better tunes then grones can make. 
But that these countrey-aires thy love 

Did take. 

Wherefore I crie and crie again, 25 

And in no quiet canst thou be 
Till I a thankfull heart obtain 

Of thee. 

Not thankfull when it pleaseth me; 

As if thy blessings had spare dayes, 30 
But such a heart whose pulse may be 

Thy praise. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 233 



PRAISE 

Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise, 
Thy praise alone. 
My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes; 

And when it stops for want of store, 
Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone, 5 

That thou mayst yet have more. 

When thou dost favour any action, 
It runnes, it flies; 
All things concur re to give it a perfection. 

That which had but two legs before, 10 

When thou dost blesse, hath twelve. One wheel 
doth rise 

To twentie then, or more. 

But when thou dost on businesse blow. 
It hangs, it clogs; 
Not all the teams of Albion in a row 15 

Can hale or draw it out of doore. 
Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh's wheels but 
logs. 

And struggling hinders more. 



234 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 

Thousands of things do thee employ 

In ruling all 20 

This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy, 

Devils their rod, the sea his shore. 
The windes their stint. And yet when I did call, 
Thou heardst my call, and more. 

I have not lost one single tear. 25 

But when mine eyes 
Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there 

(As we have boxes for the poore) 
Readie to take them in; yet of a size 

That would contain much more. 30 

But after thou hadst slipt a drop 
From thy right eye, 
(Which there did hang like streamers neare the 
top 
Of some fair church, to show the sore 
And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie) 35 
The glasse was full and more. 

Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart. 

Though press'd, runnes thin, 
O that I might some other hearts convert. 

And so take up at use good store; 40 

That to thy chests there might be coming in 
Both all my praise and more! 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 235 



THE INVITATION 

Come ye hither all whose taste 
Is your waste. 

Save your cost and mend your fare. 

God is here prepar'd and drest. 

And the feast, 5 

God, in whom all dainties are. 

Come ye hither all whom wine 
Doth define. 

Naming you not to your good. 

Weep what ye have drunk amisse, 10 
And drink this. 

Which before ye drink is bloud. 

Come ye hither all whom pain 

Doth arraigne. 

Bringing all your sinnes to sight. 15 

Taste and fear not. God is here 
In this cheer, 

And on sinne doth cast the fright.^ 



^36 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



Come ye hither all whom joy 

Doth destroy, 20 

While ye graze without your bounds. 
Here is joy that drowneth quite 

Your delight, 
As a floud the lower grounds. 

Come ye hither all whose love 25 

Is your dove. 

And exalts you to the skie. 

Here is love which, having breath 
Ev'n in death, 

After death can never die. 30 

Lord I have invited all, 

And I shall 
Still invite, still call to thee. 
For it seems but just and right 

In my sight, 35 

Where is all, there all should be. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



THE BANQUET 

Welcome sweet and sacred cheer, 

Welcome deare! 

With me, in me, hve and dwell; 

For thy neatnesse passeth sight. 

Thy deUght 5 

Passeth tongue to taste or tell. 

O what sweetnesse from the bowl 
Fills my soul. 

Such as is and makes divine! 

Is some starre (fled from the sphere) 10 
Melted there. 

As we sugar melt in wine ? 

Or hath sweetnesse in the bread 
Made a head 

To subdue the smell of sinne; 15 

Flowers, and gummes, and powders giving 
All their Hving, 

Lest the enemie should winne ? 



238 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



Doubtlesse neither starre nor flower 

Hath the power 20 

Such a sweetnesse to impart, 

Onely God, who gives perfumes, 

Flesh assumes, 

And with it perfumes my heart. 

But as Pomanders and wood 25 

Still are good. 

Yet being bruis'd are better sented, 

God to show how farre his love 

Could improve, 

Here, as broken, is presented. 30 

When I had forgot my birth, 

And on earth 

In delights of earth was drown'd, 

God took bloud and needs would be 

Spilt with me, 35 

And so found me on the ground. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



Having rais'd me to look up, 

In a cup 
Sweetly he doth meet my taste. 
But I still being low and short, 40 

Farre from court. 
Wine becomes a wing at last. 

For with it alone I flie 

To the skie; 

Where I wipe mine eyes, and see 45 

What I seek, for what I sue. 

Him I view 

Who hath done so much for me. 

Let the wonder of this pitie 

Be my dittie, 50 
And take up my lines and life. 
Hearken, under pain of death. 

Hands and breath, 
Strive in this and love the strife. 



240 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



EVEN-SONG 

Blest be the God of love, 
Wlio gave me eyes, and light, and power this day 
Both to be busie and to play. 
But much more blest be God above 

Who gave me sight alone, 6 

.Which to himself he did denie; 
For when he sees my waies, I dy; 
But I have got his sonne, and he hath none. 

What have I brought thee home 
For this thy love ? Have I discharg'd the debt 10 
Which this dayes favour did beget ? 
I ranne, but all I brought was fome. 

Thy diet, care, and cost 
Do end in bubbles, balls of winde; 
Of winde to thee whom I have crost, 15 
But balls of wilde-fire to my troubled minde. 



VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 241 



Yet still thou goest on, 
And now with darknesse closest wearie eyes, 
Saying to man, It doth suffice. 
Henceforth repose. Your work is done. 20 

Thus in thy Ebony box 
Thou dost inclose us, till the day 
Put our amendment in our way, 
And give new wheels to our disorder' d clocks. 

I muse which shows more love, 25 
The day or night : that is the gale, this th' harbour; 
That is the walk, and this the arbour; 
Or that the garden, this the grove. 

My God, thou art all love. 
Not one poore minute 'scapes thy breast 
But brings a favour from above. 31 

And in this love, more then in bed, I rest. 



242 VII. THE HAPPY PRIEST 



ANTIPHON 

Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing. 
My God and King. 

Vers. The heav'ns are not too high, 
His praise may thither flie. 
The earth is not too low, 5 

His praises there may grow. 

Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry comer sing. 
My God and King. 

Vers. The church with psalms must shout. 
No doore can keep them out. 10 

But above all, the heart 
Must bear the longest part. 

Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 
My God and King. 



VIII 
BEMERTON STUDY 



PREFACE 

MANY persons find the reflective poetry of 
Herbert the most agreeable portion of The 
Temple. The more personal poems call for larger 
historical and artistic imagination than most of 
us care to supply. To reconstruct their reality 
we must project ourselves into conditions of mind 
which belong to a bygone age ; and few are willing, 
or even able, to detach themselves from their own 
time and feel the humanity in types of emotion 
which look fictitious because unfamiliar. Or if 
we take the very probable view that in these poems, 
as in Shakespeare's or Sidney's Sonnets, art is as 
much concerned as emotion, the chance that Her- 
bert's eager songs will be understood becomes 
more slender still. For art is little known or hon- 
ored among us. It interests but few to see a feeling 
taking its rise in some experience of a poet, then 
purged of whatever checks its coherence, and 
gradually furnished with all that can lend it ful- 
ness and precision, until it finally comes forth pal- 
pitating with fresh and irresponsible life, and ex- 
hibits with a completeness not otherwise possible 
an isolated section of the complex soul of man. 
Indeed, busy and matter-of-fact folk are disposed 
to suspect falsehood in anything which bears the 



246 PREFACE TO 

marks of art, and to count only those emotions 
genuine which are poured out with the sponta- 
neous disorderUness of nature. AVhere such instinc- 
tive presuppositions exist, the subtle adjustments 
and intricate accords by means of which Herbert 
idealizes passions which to-day are but slightly 
felt will to a considerable extent remove his per- 
sonal poems from sympathy. Work which charms 
the lover of exquisite art, and beautiful records of 
earlier habits of mind which fascinate the imagi- 
native student of spiritual history, will be easily 
discarded as artificial and full of conceits. 

But even then the reflective poetry of Herbert 
remains. Art is not usually felt to be a disturber 
of meditation, but rather to be required in utter- 
ances of profound thought. Herbert's intellectual 
verse has accordingly been prized by many who 
have regarded his emotional with something like 
contempt. I do not myself think the two kinds can 
be fully parted. Herbert puts passion into every- 
thing, and everything he rationalizes. Yet I have 
thought I might render him more accessible to all 
tastes if here among the Bemerton poems, as pre- 
viously among those of the Cambridge years, I place 
in a special Group those which are least marked 
by the personal note. Here stand the compact 
pieces of wisdom which were shaped in the Wilt- 
shire study. Some of them may have been brought 
over half -finished from Cambridge, Dauntsey, or 
Baynton. But in Bemerton they received their 



BEMERTON STUDY 247 

final form, and they appear only in the manuscript 
of Herbert's later years. 

In this more abstract and contemplative species 
of verse Herbert is able to exhibit with fullest ad- 
vantage one of his chief literary merits, I mean his 
power to charge a few common words with more 
meaning than they easily carry. The phrase 
strains; the thought obtrudes beyond the words. 
By audacity of diction Herbert forces his reader — 
his energetic reader — to approach at some strange 
angle new aspects of old truths. We all know the 
aphoristic force of the Elizabethan and Jacobean 
poets. They were no mere epigrammatists, like 
the Queen Anne's men. They cared nothing for 
propriety, and kept their thoughts on things rather 
than on words. But nobody has ever been able to 
fashion a phrase with greater certainty that it will 
stick in the mind which it once enters. In this 
penetrative power Herbert stands among the fore- 
most of his age. Few poets are more quotable. He 
abounds in those " jewels five words long wliich 
on the stretched forefinger of all time sparkle 
forever." Yet his sententious power is not satis- 
fied with creating scattered phrases ; these are but 
the material out of which a pathetic, gay, or saga- 
cious whole is firmly fashioned. The general in- 
tellectual tone appropriate to each poem is to 
Herbert's mind a matter of much consequence, 
and the phrasing which would enter fitly into one 
is not allowed to disturb the poise of another. 



248 PREFACE TO 

Let any reader compare Peace and Dotage, 
CoNSTANCiE and The Bag, or either of these 
with Vanitie or Vertue, and he will see how 
harmoniously selective is Herbert's craftsmanship, 
how free he is from anything like a single fixed 
style. All this is less felt because without special 
training on the reader's part Herbert is difficult 
to follow. He moves at great speed through strange 
and tangled regions. He loves "by indirection to 
find direction out." He does not concern himself 
with his reader, but with getting his own mind 
completely delivered. 

I have set at the head of this Group Herbert's 
profoundest philosophic study. Providence. The 
first impression it will give is that it is queer. Cer- 
tain lines will seem positively comic. I do not 
think this fact would have disturbed Herbert, or 
have brought him to admit the need of change, 
any more than similar facts in the poetry of Words- 
worth, Browning, and Emerson ever worried those 
explorers of the human soul. Such poets write 
for themselves, and merely allow other men to 
listen while they think. Providence is a mas- 
terly survey of a closely ordered universe which 
culminates in man. While lacking modern scien- 
tific equipment, trusting too to Aristotelic methods 
more than would to-day be generally approved, 
and consequently often mistaking small things for 
great, Herbert shows a keenness of observation, 
an ability to group together similar but outwardly 



BEMERTON STUDY 249 

unlike facts, and a prevision even of modern 
evolutional points of view, which prove him to have 
been a man of real grasp in subjects lying outside 
his special religious themes. The wording is strong 
throughout, in parts rising to an easy majesty not 
reached by him elsewhere. 

After Providence I place discussions of several 
features of the Church and its partially detached 
members, which lead to consideration of the dif- 
ferences between the Biblical Church and our 
own. CoNSTANCiE and The Foil show how un- 
shakable a man may become through righteous- 
ness; and then his complex and vacillating nature 
is shown in Man's Medley, Giddinesse, Van- 
iTiE, Dotage, Businesse, Sinnes Round, and 
The Water-Course. The pessimistic view of 
man's condition is a favorite with Herbert both 
on religious and poetic grounds. It shows the need 
of Atonement, and lends itself to decidedly pic- 
turesque treatment. The Pulley and Marie 
Magdalene point out our way of delivery from 
restlessness. The Passion of our Lord is set forth 
in several poems which from style I should sup- 
pose to be written early, but which are not in- 
cluded in the Williams Manuscript. At the end 
of the Group I have placed half-a-dozen trifles in 
which the fancy of Herbert plays sweetly with its 
own ingenuities. 



250 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



AN INSCRIPTION 
TO MY SUCCESSOR 

If thou chance for to find 
A new House to thy mind, 

And built without thy Cost, 
Be good to the Poor, 
As God gives thee store, 

And then my Labour's not lost. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 251 



PROVIDENCE 

O SACRED Providence, who from end to end 
Strongly and sweetly movest! Shall I write, 

And not of thee through whom my fingers bend 
To hold my quill ? Shall they not do thee right ? 

Of all the creatures both in sea and land 5 

Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes, 

And put the penne alone into his hand, 
And made him Secretarie of thy praise. 

Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes; 

Trees would be tuning on their native lute 10 
To thy renown; but all their hands and throats 

Are brought to Man, while they are lame and 
mute. 

Man is the world's high Priest. He doth present 
The sacrifice for all; while they below 

Unto the service mutter an assent, 15 

Such as springs use that fall and windes that 
blow. 



252 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain 
Doth not refrain unto himself alone, 

But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain, 
And doth commit a world of sinne in one. 20 

The beasts say, Eat me ; but if beasts must teach. 
The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. 

The trees say, Pull me ; but the hand you stretch 
Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise. 

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present 25 
For me and all my fellows praise to thee. 

And just it is that I should pay the rent, 
Because the benefit accrues to me. 

We all acknowledge both thy power and love 
To be exact, transcendent, and divine; 30 

Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move, 

While all things have their will, yet none but 
thine. 

For either thy command or thy permission 

Lay hands on all. They are thy right and left. 

The first puts on with speed and expedition, 35 
The other curbs sinne's stealing pace and theft. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 253 

Nothing escapes them both. All must appeare, 
And be dispos'd, and dress'd, and tun'd by thee, 

Who sweetly temper' st all. If we could heare 
Thy skill and art, what musick would it be! 40 

Thou art in small things great, not small in any. 
Thy even praise can neither rise nor fall. 

Thou art in all things one, in each thing many. 
For thou art infinite in one and all. 

Tempests are cahn to thee. They know thy hand. 

And hold it fast, as children do their father's, 

Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore 

sand 47 

Check the proud sea, ev'n when it swells and 

gathers. 

Thy cupboard serves the world. The meat is set 

Where all may reach. No beast but knows his 

feed. 50 

Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net; 
The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed. 

Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat: 

Flies have their table spread ere they appeare; 

Some creatures have in winter what to eat, 55 
Others do sleep, and en vie not their cheer. 



254 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, 
And make a twist cheeker'd with night and day! 

Which as it lengthens windes, and windes us in, 
As bouls go on, but turning all the way. 60 

Each creature hath a wisdome for his good. 

The pigeons feed their tender off-spring, crying, 
When they are callow; but withdraw their food 

When they are fledge, that need may teach them 
flying. 64 

Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise 
Their master's flower, but leave it, having done. 

As fair as ever and as fit to use; 

So both the flower doth stay, and hony run. 

Sheep eat the grasse and dung the ground for 

more. 

Trees, after bearing, drop their leaves for soil. 

Springs vent their streams, and by expense get 

store. 71 

Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 255 



Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare 

And curious vertues both of herbs and stones ? 

Is there an herb for that ? O that thy care 75 
Would show a root that gives expressions! 

And if an herb hath power, what have the starres ? 

A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure. 
Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and 
warres 

Are there much surer then our art is sure. 80 

Thou hast hid metals. Man may take them thence. 
But at his perill. When he digs the place. 

He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense, 
And threatned man that he should fill the space. 

Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be lost ? 

Should creatures want for want of heed their 
due? 
Since where are poysons, antidots are most; 87 

The help stands close and keeps the fear in view. 



256 Vin. BEMERTON STUDY 



The sea, which seems to stop the traveller, 

Is by a ship the speedier passage made. 90 

The windes, who think they rule the mariner, 
Are nil'd by him and taught to serve his trade. 

And as thy house is full, so I adore 

Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. 
The hills with health abound; the vales with 
store; 95 

The South with marble ; North with furres and 
woods. 

Hard things are glorious ; easie things good cheap. 

The common all men have ; that which is rare 
Men therefore seek to have and care to keep. 

The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare. 

Light without winde is glasse; warm without 

weight 101 

Is wooll and furres; cool without closenesse, 

shade; 

Speed without pains, a horse ; tall without height, 

A servile hawk; low without losse, a spade. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 257 



All countreys have enough to serve their need. 105 
If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run 

For their offence ; and then dost turn their speed 
To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne. 

Nothing wears clothes but Man; nothing doth 
need 

But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire 110 
But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed. 

And onely he hath fuell in desire. 

When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet. 

When that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the 

mountains. 

When yet some places could no moisture get, 115 

The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good 

fountains. 

Rain, do not hurt my flowers, but gently spend 
Your hony drops! Presse not to smell them 
here. 

When they are ripe, their odour will ascend 119 
And at your lodging with their thanks appeare. 



258 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



How harsh are thorns to pears ! And yet they make 
A better hedge, and need less reparation. 

How smooth are silks compared with a stake, 
Or with a stone ! Yet make no good foundation. 

Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man, 125 
Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone 

Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan. 
Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one. 

Most herbs that grow in brooks are hot and dry. 

Cold fruits' warm kernells help against the 
winde. 130 

The lemmon's juice and rinde cure mutually. 

The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth binde. 

Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast 
Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants. 

Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast; 

Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th' earth 

and plants. 136 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 259 



To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot 

Were worse then ours, sometimes thou shiftest 

hands. 

Most things move th' under-jaw; the Crocodile 

not. 

Most things sleep lying; th' Elephant leans or 

stands. 140 

But who hath praise enough ? Nay who hath any ? 

None can expresse thy works but he that knows 
them. 
And none can know thy works, which are so many 

And so complete, but onely he that owes them. 

All things that are, though they have sev'rall 
wayes, 145 

Yet in their being joyn with one advise 
To honour thee. And so I give thee praise 

In all my other hymnes, but in this twice. 

[Each thing that is, although in use and name 
It go for one, hath many wayes in store 150 

To honour thee. And so each hymne thy fame 
ExtoUeth many wayes, yet this one more.] 



260 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



DIVINITIE 

As men, for fear the starres should sleep and nod 
And trip at night, have spheres suppU'd, 

As if a starre were duller then a clod, 

Which knows his way without a guide; 

Just so the other heav'n they also serve, 5 

Divinitie's transcendent skie. 
Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. 

Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. 

Could not that wisdome which first broacht the 
wine 

Have thicken'd it with definitions ? 10 

And jagg'd his seamlesse coat, had that been fine, 

With curious questions and divisions ? 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 261 



But all the doctrine which he taught and gave 
Was cleare as heav'n, from whence it came. 

At least those beams of truth which onely save 15 
Surpasse in brightnesse any flame. 

Love God and love your neighbour. Watch and 
pray. 

Do as ye would he done unto. 
O dark instructions! Ev'n as dark as day! 

Who can these Gordian knots undo ? 20 

But he doth bid us take his bloud for wine. 

Bid what he please! Yet I am sure 
To take and taste what he doth there designe 

Is all that saves, and not obscure. 

Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man. 25 

Break all thy spheres and save thy head. 

Faith needs no staffe of flesh, but stoutly can 
To heav'n alone both go and leade. 



262 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



THE BRITISH CHURCH 

I JOY, deare Mother, when I view 
Thy perfect Hneaments, and hue 

Both sweet and bright. 
Beautie in thee takes up her place. 
And dates her letters from thy face 5 

When she doth write. 

A fine aspect in fit array, 

Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, 

Shows who is best. 
Outlandish looks may not compare, 10 
For all they either painted are. 

Or else undrest. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 263 



She on the hills which wantonly 
Allureth all, in hope to be 

By her preferr'd, 15 

Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines 
That ev'n her face by kissing shines, 

For her reward. 

She in the valley is so shie 

Of dressing that her hair doth lie 20 

About her eares; 
While she avoids her neighbour's pride. 
She wholly goes on th' other side, 

And nothing wears. 

But dearest Mother, (what those misse,) 25 
The mean, thy praise and glorie is 

And long may be. 
Blessed be God, whose love it was 
To double-moat thee with his grace, 

And none but thee. 30 



264 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



CHURCH-RENTS AND SCHISMES 

Brave rose, (alas !) where art thou ? In the chair 

Where thou didst lately so triumph and shine 
A worm doth sit, whose many feet and hair 

Are the more foul the more thou wert divine. 
This, this hath done it, this did bite the root 5 

And bottome of the leaves ; which when the 
winde 
Did once perceive, it blew them under foot. 

Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and 
grinde 
Their beauteous glories. Onely shreds of thee, 
And those all bitten, in thy chair I see. 10 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 265 



Why doth my Mother blush ? Is she the rose 

And shows it so ? Indeed Christ's precious 
bloud 
Gave you a colour once; which when your foes 

Thought to let out, the bleeding did you good, 
And made you look much fresher then before. 15 

But when debates and fretting jealousies 
Did worm and work within you more and more, 

Your colour faded, and calamities 
Turned your ruddie into pale and bleak. 
Your health and beautie both began to break. 20 

Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start. 

Which when your neighbours saw, Uke a north- 
winde 
They rushed in and cast them in the dirt, 

Where Pagans tread. O Mother deare and 
kinde. 
Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep, 25 

As many eyes as starres ? Since it is night. 
And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep. 

And ev'n all Africk. Would at least I might 
With these two poore ones hck up all the dew 
Which falls by night, and poure it out for you ! 30 



266 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



THE JEWS 

PooRE nation, whose sweet sap and juice 
Our cyens have purloin'd and left you drie; 

Whose streams we got by the Apostles' sluce 
And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die; 
Who, by not keeping once, became a debter, 5 

And now by keeping lose the letter; 

Oh that my prayers! mine, alas! 
Oh that some Angel might a trumpet sound, 

At which the Church falling upon her face 
Should crie so loud untill the trump were drown'd. 
And by that crie of her deare Lord obtain 11 

That your sweet sap might come again! 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 267 

SELF-CONDEMNATION 

Thou who condemnest Jewish hate 
For choosing Barabbas, a murderer, 
Before the Lord of glorie. 
Look back upon thine own estate, 
Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer), 5 

That choice may be thy storie. 

He that doth love, and love amisse, 
This world's delights before true Christian joy. 
Hath made a Jewish choice. 
The world an ancient murderer is; 10 

Thousands of souls it hath, and doth destroy 
With her enchanting voice. 

He that hath made a sorrie wedding 
Between his soul and gold, and hath preferr'd 

False gain before the true, 15 

Hath done what he condemnes in reading; 
For he hath sold for money his deare Lord, 
And is a Judas-Jew. 

Thus we prevent the last great day. 
And judge our selves. That Hght which sin and 
passion 20 

Did before dimme and choke. 
When once those snuffes are ta'ne away. 
Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation, 
Without excuse or cloke. 



268 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



AVARICE 

Money, thou bane of blisse and sourse of wo, 

Whence com'st thou that thou art so fresh and 
fine? 
I know thy parentage is base and low, 

Man found thee poore and dirtie in a mine. 
Surely thou didst so Httle contribute 5 

To this great kingdome which thou now hast 
got 
That he was fain, when thou wert destitute. 

To digge thee out of thy dark cave and grot. 
Then forcing thee by fire, he made thee bright. 

Nay, thou hast got the face of man, for we 10 
Have with our stamp and seal transf err'd our right ; 

Thou art the man, and man but drosse to thee. 
Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich. 
And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



DECAY 

Sweet were the dayes when thou didst lodge with 

Lot, 

Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon, 

Ad\dse with Abraham, when thy power could not 

Encounter Moses' strong complaints and mone. 

Thy words were then, Let me alone. 5 

One might have sought and found thee presently 
At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well. 

Is my God this way ? No, they would reply. 
He is to Sinai gone as we heard tell. 9 

List, ye may heare great Aaron's bell. 

But now thou dost thy self immure and close 
In some one corner of a feeble heart. 

Where yet both Sinne and Satan, thy old foes. 
Do pinch and straiten thee and use much art 
To gain thy thirds and Httle part. 15 

I see the world grows old, whenas the heat 
Of thy great love once spread, as in an urn 

Doth closet up itself and still retreat. 
Cold sinne still forcing it, till it return, 

And calling Justice, all things burn. 20 



270 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



JUSTICE 

O DREAD FULL Justice, what a fright and terrour 
Wast thou of old, 
When sinne and errour 
Did show and shape thy looks to me, 
And through their glasse discolour thee ! 5 
He that did but look up was proud and bold. 

The dishes of thy ballance seem'd to gape, 
Like two great pits. 
The beam and scape 
Did like some tort' ring engine show. 10 
Thy hand above did burn and glow, 
Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits. 

But now that Christ's pure vail presents the sight, 
I see no fears. 

Thy hand is white, 15 

Thy scales like buckets, which attend 
And interchangeably descend. 
Lifting to heaven from this well of tears. 

For where before thou still didst call on me. 

Now I still touch 20 

And harp on thee. 
God's promises have made thee mine. 
Why should I justice now decline ? 
Against me there is none, but for me much. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 271 



CONSTANCIE 

Who is the honest man ? 
He that doth still and strongly good pursue, 
To God, his neighbour, and himself most true. 

Whom neither force nor fawning can 
Unpinne or wrench from giving all their due. 5 

Whose honestie is not 
So loose or easie that a ruffling winde 
Can blow away, or glittering look it blinde. 

Who rides his sure and even trot 9 

While the world now rides by, now lags behinde. 

Who, when great trials come. 
Nor seeks nor shunnes them; but doth calmly 

stay 
Till he the thing and the example weigh. 

All being brought into a summe. 
What place or person calls for, he doth pay. 15 



272 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



Whom none can work or wooe 
To use in any thing a trick or sleight. 
For above all things he abhorres deceit. 

His words and works and fashion too 
All of a piece, and all are cleare and straight. 20 

Who never melts or thaws 
At close tentations. When the day is done, 
His goodnesse sets not, but in dark can runne. 

The sunne to others writeth laws, 
And is their vertue. Vertue is his Sunne. 25 

Who, when he is to treat 
With sick folks, women, those whom passions 

sway. 
Allows for that and keeps his constant way. 

Whom others' faults do not defeat; 29 

But though men fail him, yet his part doth play. 

Whom nothing can procure. 
When the wide world runnes bias, from his will 
To writhe his limbes, and share, not mend the ill. 

This is the Mark-man, safe and sure. 
Who still is right, and prayes to be so stiU. 35 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 273 



THE FOIL 

If we could see below 
The sphere of vertue and each shining grace 

As plainly as that above doth show, 
This were the better skie, the brighter place. 

God hath made starres the foil 
To set off vertues, griefs to set off sinning. 

Yet in this wretched world we toil 
As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning. 



274 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



MAN'S MEDLEY 

Heark, how the birds do sing. 
And woods do ring! 
All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 

Yet if we rightly measure, 

Man's joy and pleasure 5 

Rather hereafter then in present is. 

To this life things of sense 

Make their pretence; 
In th' other Angels have a right by birth. 

Man ties them both alone, 10 

And makes them one. 
With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other 
earth. 

In soul he mounts and flies. 

In flesh he dies. 14 

He wears a stuffe whose thread is coarse and round, 

But trimm'd with curious lace, 

And should take place 
After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 275 



Not that he may not here 

Taste of the cheer; 20 

But as birds drink and straight Hft up their head, 

So must he sip and think 

Of better drink 
He may attain to after he is dead. 

But as his joyes are double, 25 

So is his trouble. 
He hath two winters, other things but one. 

Both frosts and thoughts do nip 

And bite his Hp, 
And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 30 

Yet ev'n the greatest griefs 
May be reliefs, 
Could he but take them right and in their wayes. 

Happie is he whose heart 

Hath found the art 35 

To turn his double pains to double praise. 



276 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



GIDDINESSE 

Oh, what a thing is man ! How farre from power, 

From setled peace and rest! 
He is some twentie sev'rall men at least 

Each sev'rall houre. 4 

One while he counts of heav'n as of his treasure ; 

But then a thought creeps in 
And calls him coward who for fear of sinne 
Will lose a pleasure. 

Now he will fight it out and to the warres; 

Now eat his bread in peace 10 

And snudge in quiet. Now he scorns increase; 
Now all day spares. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 277 



He builds a house, which quickly down must go. 
As if a whirl winde blew 14 

And crusht the building; and it's partly true, 
His minde is so. 

O what a sight were Man if his attires 

Did alter with his minde; 
And Hke a Dolphin's skinne, his clothes combin'd 
With his desires! 20 

Surely if each one saw another's heart. 
There would be no commerce, 
No sale or bargain passe. All would disperse, 
And Uve apart. 

Lord, mend or rather make us. One creation 25 

Will not suffice our turn. 
Except thou make us dayly, we shall spurn 
Our own salvation. 



278 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



VANITIE 

The fleet Astronomer can bore 
And thred the spheres with his quick-piercing 

minde. 
He views their stations, walks from doore to doore, 
Surveys as if he had designed 4 

To make a purchase there. He sees their dances. 

And knoweth long before 
Both their full-ey'd aspects and secret glances. 

The nimble Diver with his side 
Cuts through the working waves, that he may 
fetch 9 

His dearely-earned pearl, which God did hide 

On purpose from the ventrous wretch; 
That he might save his life, and also hers 

Who with excessive pride 
Her own destruction and his danger wears. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 279 



The subtil Chymick can devest 15 

And strip the creature naked, till he finde 
The callow principles within their nest. 

There he imparts to them his minde, 
Admitted to their bed-chamber, before 19 

They appeare trim and drest 
To ordinarie suitours at the doore. 

What hath not man sought out and found, 
But his deare God ? Who yet his glorious law 
Embosomes in us, mellowing the ground 24 

With showres and frosts, with love and 
aw, 
So that we need not say, Where's this command ? 
Poore man, thou searchest round 
To finde out death, but missest lije at hand. 



280 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



DOTAGE 

False glozing pleasures, casks of happinesse, 
Foolish night-fires, women's and children's 
wishes, 
Chases in Arras, guilded emptinesse, 
Shadows well mounted, dreams in a career, 4 
Embroider'd lyes, nothing between two dishes; 
These are the pleasures here. 

True earnest sorrows, rooted miseries, 

Anguish in grain, vexations ripe and blown, 

Sure-footed griefs, solid calamities, 

Plain demonstrations, evident and cleare, 10 

Fetching their proofs ev'n from the very bone; 
These are the sorrows here. 

But oh the folly of distracted men. 

Who griefs in earnest, joyes in jest pursue; 
Preferring, like brute beasts, a lothsome den 15 
Before a court, ev'n that above so cleare. 
Where are no sorrows, but delights more true 
Then miseries are here! 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 281 



BUSINESSE 

Canst be idle ? Canst thou play. 
Foolish soul, who sinn'd to day ? 

Rivers run, and springs each one 

Know their home, and get them gone. 

Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ? 5 

If, poore soul, thou hast no tears, 
Would thou hadst no faults or fears! 
Who hath these, those ill forbears. 

Windes still work; it is their plot, 

Be the season cold or hot. 10 

Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not ? 

If thou hast no sighs or grones. 
Would thou hadst no flesh and bones! 
Lesser pains scape greater ones. 

But if yet thou idle be, 15 

Foolish soul, who di'd for thee ? 



282 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 

Who did leave his Father's throne 
To assume thy flesh and bone ? 
Had he hfe, or had he none ? 

If he had not Hv'd for thee, 20 

Thou hadst di'd most wretchedly, 
And two deaths had been thy fee. 

He so farre thy good did plot 

That his own self he forgot. 

Did he die, or did he not ? 25 

If he had not di'd for thee. 
Thou hadst liv'd in miserie. 
Two lives worse then ten deaths be. 

And hath any space of breath 29 

'Twixt his sinnes and Saviour's death ? 

He that loseth gold, though drosse. 
Tells to all he meets his crosse. 
He that sinnes, hath he no losse ? 

He that findes a silver vein 

Thinks on it, and thinks again. 35 

Brings thy Saviour's death no gain ? 

Who in heart not ever kneels 
Neither sinne nor Saviour feels. 



Vni. BEMERTON STUDY 



SINNES ROUND 

SoRRiE I am, my God, sorrie I am 
That my offences course it in a ring. 

My thoughts are working hke a busie flame 
Untill their cockatrice they hatch and bring. 4 

And when they once have perfected their draughts. 

My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. 

My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. 
Which spit it forth Hke the SiciHan hill. 

They vent the wares and passe them with their 
faults. 
And by their breathing ventilate the ill. 10 

But words sufiice not where are lewd intentions; 

My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. 

My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. 

And so my sinnes ascend three stories high. 
As Babel grew before there were dissentions. 15 

Yet ill deeds loyter not, for they supplie 
New thoughts of sinning. Wherefore, to my shame, 
Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am. 



284 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



THE WATER-COURSE 

Thou who dost dwell and linger here below. 
Since the condition of this world is frail 

Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow. 
If troubles overtake thee, do not wail; 4 

For who can look for lesse that loveth \ ^ .' 

( Strife. 

But rather turn the pipe and water's course 
To serve thy sinnes, and furnish thee with store 

Of sov'raigne tears, springing from true remorse; 

That so in purenesse thou mayst him adore 9 

\Ti7u • X T. £x i Salvation. 

Who gives to man as he sees nt < ^ 

( Damnation. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 285 



THE PULLEY 

When God at first made man, 
Having a glasse of blessings standing by, 

Let us (said he) poure on him all we can. 
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. 

Contract into a span. 5 

So strength first made a way. 
Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour, plea- 
sure. 
When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure 

Rest in the bottome lay. 10 

For if I should (said he) 
Bestow this jeweil also on my creature, 

He would adore my gifts instead of me. 
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature. 

So both should losers be. 15 

Yet let him keep the rest, 
But keep them with repining restlesnesse. 

Let him be rich and wearie, that at least. 
If goodnesse leade him not, yet wearinesse 

May tosse him to my breast. 20 



286 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



MARIE MAGDALENE 

When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet, 
(Whose precepts she had trampled on before,) 

And wore them for a Jewell on her head, 
Shewing his steps should be the street 

Wherein she thenceforth evermore 5 

With pensive humblenesse would live and tread; 

She being stain'd her self, why did she strive 

To make him clean who could not be defil'd ? 
Why kept she not her tears )for her own faults. 
And not his feet ? Though we could dive 10 
In tears like seas, our sinnes are pil'd 
Deeper then they, in words, and works, and 
thoughts. 

Deare soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and 
deigne 
To bear her filth, and that her sinnes did dash 
Ev'n God himself; wherefore she was not loth, 15 
As she had brought wherewith to stain, 
So to bring in wherewith to wash. 
And yet, in washing one, she washed both. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 287 



THE AGONIE 

Philosophers have measur'd mountains, 

Fathom'd the depths of seas, of states, and kings, 
Walk'd with a staffe to heav'n, and traced foun- 
tains ; 
But there are two vast, spacious things, 
The which to measure it doth more behove, 5 
Yet few there are that sound them : Sinne and 
Love. 

Who would know Sinne, let him repair 
Unto Mount Olivet; there shall he see 

A man so wrung with pains that all his hair, 
His skinne, his garments bloudie be. 10 

Sinne is that presse and vice which forceth pain 

To hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein. 

Who knows not Love, let him assay 

And taste that juice which on the crosse a pike 
Did set again abroach; then let him say 15 

If ever he did taste the like. 
Love is that liquor sweet and most divine 
Which my God feels as bloud; but I, as wine. 



288 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



SEPULCHRE 

O BLESSED bodie ! Whither art thou thrown ? 
No lodging for thee but a cold hard stone ? 
So many hearts on earth, and yet not one 

Receive thee ? 4 

Sure there is room within our hearts — good store! 
For they can lodge transgressions by the score. 
Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore 

They leave thee. 

But that which shews them large, shews them unfit. 
Whateyer sinne did this pure rock commit, 10 
Which holds thee now ? Who hath indited it 

Of murder ? 
Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain 

thee. 
And missing tliis, most falsly did arraigne thee, 
Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee, 15 

And order. 

And as of old, the law by heav'nly art 
Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art 
The letter of the word, find'st no fit heart 

To hold thee. 20 

Yet do we still persist as we began, 
And so should perish, but that nothing can, 
Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man 

Withold thee. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



THE BAG 

Away despair! My gracious Lord doth heare. 

Though windes and waves assault my keel, 
He doth preserve it; he doth steer, 

Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. 
Storms are the triumph of his art. 5 

Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart. 

Hast thou not heard that my Lord Jesus di'd ? 

Then let me tell thee a strange storie. 
The God of power, as he did ride 

In his majestick robes of glorie, 10 

Resolv'd to Hght; and so one day 
He did descend, undressing all the way. 

The starres his tire of light and rings obtained, 

The cloud his bow, the fire his spear, 
The sky his azure mantle gain'd. 15 

And when they ask'd what he would wear. 
He smil'd and said, as he did go. 
He had new clothes a making here below. / 



290 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 

When he was come, as travellers are wont, 

He did repair unto an inne. 20 

Both then and after, many a brunt 
He did endure to cancell sinne. 

And having giv'n the rest before. 

Here he gave up his life to pay our score. 

But as he was returning, there came one 25 

That ran upon him with a spear. 

He who came hither all alone. 

Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, 

Receiv'd the blow upon his side; 29 

And straight he turn'd and to his brethren cry'd, 

If ye have anything to send or write, 
(I have no bag, but here is room) 

Unto my father's hands and sight 

(Beleeve me) it shall safely come. 

That I shall minde what you impart, 35 

Look, you may put it very neare my heart. 

Or if hereafter any of my friends 

Will use me in this kinde, the doore 

Shall still be open; what he sends 

I will present, and somewhat more, 40 

Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey 

Any thing to me. Heark despair, away! 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 291 



THE SONNE 

Let forrain nations of their language boast, 
What fine varietie each tongue affords, 

I like our language, as our men and coast. 

Who cannot dresse it well, want wit, not words. 

How neatly doe we give one onely name 5 

To parents* issue and the sunne's bright starre ! 

A Sonne is light and fruit; a fruitful flame 
Chasing the father's dimnesse, carri'd farre 

From the first man in th' East to fresh and new 
Western disco v'ries of posteritie. 10 

So in one word our Lord's humilitie 

We turn upon him in a sense most true: 

For what Christ once in humblenesse began. 
We him in glorie call. The Sonne of Man. 



292 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



LOVE-JOY 

As on a window late I cast mine eye, 
I saw a vine drop grapes with J and C 

Anneal'd on every bunch. One standing by 

Ask'd what it meant. I (who am never loth 
To spend my iudgement) said, It seem'd to me 

To be the bodie and the letters both 6 

Of Joy and Charitie. Sir, you have not miss'd, 
The man reply'd: It figures JESUS CHRIST. 



VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 293 



ANA- \ ^^^^Y I nj^Ayr 

^^^^^ I ARMY ) ^^^'^^^^ 

How well her name an Army doth present 
In whom the Lord oj hosts did pitch his tent! 



294 VIII. BEMERTON STUDY 



THE CHURCH-FLOORE 

Mark you the floore ? That square and speckled 
stone. 

Which looks so firm and strong, 
Is Patience. 

And th* other black and grave, wherewith each one 
Is checker'd all along, 5 

Humilitie, 

The gentle rising, which on either hand 
Leads to the Quire above, 
Is Confidence. 

But the sweet cement, which in one sure band 10 
Ties the whole frame, is Love 
And Charitie. 

Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains 
The marble's neat and curious veins; 

But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. 15 
Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore. 
Blows all the dust about the floore; 

But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. 
Blest be the Architect whose art 
Could build so strong in a weak heart. 20 



IX 
RESTLESSNESS 



PREFACE 

THERE came a reaction. The little parish 
which had seemed so attractive in its isola- 
tion, and into which Herbert had thrown himself 
with such joyful eagerness, proved painfully small. 
For thirty-seven years he had lived in the full tide 
of affairs. Born in high station, he had found his 
associates among the leaders of the day. With the 
gayest, the most learned, the most widely influen- 
tial men of his time, Herbert had long been living 
on terms of intimacy, and from them had derived 
much of that ability to write fine and wittie on 
which to the last he prided himself. Inaction had 
always been in his eyes the most dreaded of evils. 
Yet for the rest of his life he was to be cut off 
from society. He was to minister to a small group 
of farm laborers in a village remote from city, 
court, and university. His predecessor had not 
endured such conditions; but leaving church and 
parsonage in decay, had lived "at a better Par- 
sonage house sixteen or twenty miles from this 
place." 

At first the restrictions of Herbert^s surroundings 
were not irksome. After the storms of the Crisis 
period he found peace in sacred tasks and in what 
he supposed to be a settled mind. It seemed as if 



298 PREFACE TO 

at length he past changing were, Fast in God*s 
Paradise, where no flower can wither. According 
to Walton, he remarked to a friend just after his 
Induction: I now look back upon my aspiring 
thoughts, and think myself more happy than if I 
had attain d what then I so ambitiously thirsted for. 
In God and his service is a fulness of all joy and 
pleasure, and no satiety. Voluntarily cut off from 
outward activities, we have seen him joyfully 
developing every possibility witliin his own narrow 
bounds. He explores his priestly duties; he calls on 
the services of his Church to disclose their inmost 
significance; he records with double diligence the 
moods of his soul. While it is not necessary to 
suppose that a majority of his poems were pro- 
duced in these three years, still the early manu- 
script contains only a minority; and a large pro- 
portion of those which first appear in the later 
manuscript allude to the priestly office. Herbert's 
art must, therefore, have been busily pursued 
during this time of seclusion. A kindred art he 
also had. "His chief est recreation was Musick, 
in which heavenly Art he was a most excellent 
Master, and did himself compose many divine 
Hymns and Anthems which he set and sung to his 
Lute or Viol. And though he was a lover of retired- 
ness, yet his love of Musick was such that he went 
usually twice every week on certain appointed 
days to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and 
at his return would say that his time spent in 



RESTLESSNESS 299 

Prayer and Cathedral Musick elevated his Soul 
and was his Heaven upon Earth. But before his 
return thence to Bemerton, he would usually sing 
and play his part at an appointed Musick-meet- 
ing." 

Such were the occupations accessible in his 
small parish. For one who had always lived at the 
centre of men and things, the change experienced 
could not fail to be great. It had its welcome and 
unwelcome sides, corresponding to the diversities 
in Herbert's own nature. With one side of liimself 
- — the Elizabethan and Renaissance side — he 
loved gayety, pleasure, great place, intellectual 
companionship, the stir and glitter of the world. 
With the other side, which connected him with 
the early half of the seventeenth century, he loved 
— profoundly and tenderly loved — an abstract 
and exclusive God, the guardian of unity, order, 
obedience, silence, one hostile to every species of 
earthly attachment. We have seen how on entering 
the priesthood he anticipated that in this divine 
love there could be no satiety. He did not find it so. 
The conflicts of the Crisis were renewed. Human 
interests, personal desires, had never died in Her- 
bert. They never did die. That is what makes him 
so attractive a figure. He is ever a struggling soul, 
eager for God and unity, but only less eager to 
make the v/ealthy world his own. He is no calm 
saint. Nobody can read the stormy poems of this 
Group and find the epithet appropriate which has 



SOO PREFACE TO 

been connected with his name by loose admirers 
in his and our age. Herbert is not holy. There was 
always a noise of thoughts within his heart. How- 
ever closely joy was locked up, some bad man would 
let it out again. He was continually asking of God 
whether it were not better to bestow some place and 
power on him ; and years spent in cold dispute of 
what is fit and not were apt to appear as only lost. 
Many will feel that this failure of inward unity 
was due to the separatist notions under which 
Herbert for the most part thought of God, con- 
ceiving Him not as immanent in human affairs, but 
as detached and hostile. No doubt this is true ; but 
it does not make the conflict in Herbert's soul less 
real or instructive. Some readers, remembering 
the literary habits of Herbert's age and the sonnets 
of its love-poets, may suspect that the extent of the 
conflict is exaggerated in the interests of dramatic 
art. But even so he paints a conflict judged ap- 
propriate to the situation. However we approach 
these most human of Herbert's songs, we shall 
find that in them justice is done to sides of life 
from which the saint instinctively turns. Man is 
a Medley; and Herbert, never the simple and 
"holy" person of popular tradition, depicts that 
medley with sympathetic vividness. 

The Group begins with one of the greatest of 
his autobiographic poems ; and ends with another, 
more allegoric, but even more detailed and con- 
fessional in character. In Love Unknown Her- 



RESTLESSNESS 301 

bert treats imaginatively the three periods of his 
manhood. Though he knew himself destined for 
the priesthood, his heart was first centred on 
Academic and royal honors. A dish of such fruit 
he gained, intending eventually to offer it to the 
Lord. {This dignity hath no such earthiness in it 
but it may very well be joined with heaven : Herbert 
to Sir J. Dan vers, 1619.) But his heart needed to 
be detached from these things and cleansed. Then 
came the deaths of his friends and mother (a sac- 
rifice out of his fold, 1. 30), the resignation of his 
Oratorship, and his severe illness. These afflictions 
fell upon him when cold toward God, — hard of 
heart as regards his own appointed work. Becom- 
ing supple through affliction and through a taste 
of God's forgiving love, he turned to that priest- 
hood and home where he had always expected 
rest. But even in Bemerton he finds dull conditions 
and goading thoughts. According to this interpre- 
tation, the present poem would resurvey at a later 
date the career already sketched in Affliction, 
p. 180, which is here referred to in 1. 28. A more 
detailed but similar account is given in The Pil- 
grimage. In The Familie, The Discharge, 
The Size, and The Method he considers rea- 
sons for contentment; in Hope he perceives how 
inadequate these are; in Submission we hear of 
the painful contrast between the empty life at 
Bemerton and that to which he had aspired, a con- 
trast resulting in the Dulnesse of the next poem 



302 PREFACE 

and the rebellious mood of The Collar. The 
sense that in the service of God there is little re- 
warding joy suggests in the next three poems that 
God has withdrawn his favor, and gives rise to 
tender lament. Conscience insists on obedience. 
But in one of the most pathetic poems of the series, 
The Crosse, we learn how partly through illness, 
and partly through a restless heart, the priesthood 
is proving a disappointment. 



rX. RESTLESSNESS 303 



LOVE UNKNOWN 

Deare Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad, 
And in my faintings I presume your loue 

Will more complie then help. A Lord I had. 
And have, of whom some grounds which may 
improve 

I hold for two lives, and both lives in me. 5 
To him I brought a dish of fruit one day. 

And in the middle plac'd my heart. But he 

(I sigh to say) 
Lookt on a servant who did know his eye 

Better then you know me, or (which is one) 10 
Then I my self. The servant instantly. 

Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone 
And threw it in a font wherein did fall 

A stream of bloud which issu'd from the side 
Of a great rock. I well remember all 15 

And have good cause. There it was dipt and 
di'd, 
And washt and wrung; the very wringing yet 

Enforceth tears. Your heart was foul, I fear. 
Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit 

Many a fault more then my lease will bear, 20 
Yet still askt pardon and was not deni'd. 

But you shall heare. After my heart was well, 
And clean and fair, as I one even-tide 

(I sigh to tell) 



304 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



Walkt by my self abroad, I saw a large 25 

And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon 

A boyling caldron round about whose verge 
Was in great letters set AFFLICTION. 

The greatnesse shew'd the owner. So I went 
To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold, 30 

Thinking with that which I did thus present 
To warm his love, which I did fear grew cold. 

But as my heart did tender it, the man 
Who was to take it from me slipt his hand 34 

And threw my heart into the scalding pan — 
My heart, that brought it (do you understand ?) 

The offerer's heart. Your heart was hard, I fear. 
Indeed 't is true. I found a callous matter 

Began to spread and to expatiate there; 
But with a richer drug then scalding water 40 

I bath'd it often, ev'n with holy bloud. 
Which at a board, while many drunk bare wine, 

A friend did steal into my cup for good, 
Ev'n taken inwardly, and most divine 

To supple hardnesses. But at the length 45 
Out of the caldron getting, soon I fled 

Unto my house, where to repair the strength 
Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed. 

But when I thought to sleep out all these faults 

(I sigh to speak) 50 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 305 



I found that some had stuff 'd the bed with thoughts, 

I would say thorns. Deare, could my heart not 
break, 
When with my pleasures ev'n my rest was gone? 

Full well I understood who had been there, 
For I had giv'n the key to none but one. 55 

It must be he. Your heart was dully I fear. 
Indeed a slack and sleepie state of minde 

Did oft possesse me, so that when I pray'd. 
Though my lips went, my heart did stay behinde. 

But all my scores were by another paid, 60 
Who took the debt upon him. Truly, Friend, 

For ought I heare, your Master shows to you 
More favour then you wot of. Mark the end: 

The Font did onely what was old renew, 64 

The Caldron suppled what was grown too hard. 

The Thorns did quicken what was grown too dull. 
All did but strive to mend what you had marr'd. 

Wherefore be cheer'd, and praise him to the full 
Each day, each houre, each moment of the week. 

Who fain would have you be new, tender, quick. 



306 IX. RESTLESSNESS 

THE FAMILIE 

What doth this noise of thoughts within my heart. 

As if they had a part ? 
What do these loud complaints and pulHng fears, 
As if there were no rule or eares ? 

But, Lord, the house and familie are thine, 5 

Though some of them repine. 
Turn out these wranglers which defile thy seat, 
For where thou dwellest all is neat. 

First Peace and Silence all disputes controU, 

Then Order plaies the soul; 10 

And giving all things their set forms and houres. 
Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres. 

Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand, 

Expecting a command; 14 

Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, 
Nothing more quick when she doth go. 

Joyes oft are there, and griefs as oft as joyes, 

But griefs without a noise; 
Yet speak they louder then distemper'd fears. 
What is so shrill as silent tears ? 20 

This is thy house, with these it doth abound. 
And where these are not found, 
Perhaps thou com'st sometimes and for a day, 
But not to make a constant stay. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 307 



THE DISCHARGE 

BusiE enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know ? 

Why dost thou prie. 
And turn, and leer, and with a Ucorous eye 

Look high and low. 
And in thy lookings stretch and grow ? 5 

Hast thou not made thy counts and summ'd up 
all? 

Did not thy heart 
Give up the whole and with the whole depart ? 
Let what will fall. 
That which is past who can recall ? 10 

Thy life is God's, thy time to come is gone. 

And is his right. 
He is thy night at noon, he is at night 

Thy noon alone. 
The crop is his, for he hath sown. 15 

And well it was for thee, when this befell. 
That God did make 

Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake; 
For thou canst tell. 
If it be his once, all is well. 20 



308 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



Onely the present is thy part and fee. 

And happy thou 
If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, 

Thou couldst well see 
What present things requir'd of thee. 25 

They ask enough. Why shouldst thou further go ? 

Raise not the mudde 
Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good. 

Dig not for wo 
In times to come, for it will grow. 30 

Man and the present fit; if he provide. 
He breaks the square. 

This houre is mine; if for the next I care, 
I grow too wide, 
And do encroach upon death's side. 35 

For death each houre environs and surrounds. 

He that would know 
And care for future chances, cannot go 
Unto those grounds 
But through a Church-yard which them 
bounds. 40 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 



Things present shrink and die. But they that spend 
Their thoughts and sense 

On future grief, do not remove it thence. 
But it extend, 
And draw the bottome out an end. 45 

God chains the dog till night. Wilt loose the chain. 
And wake thy sorrow ? 

Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve tomorrow, 
And then again 
Grieve over freshly all thy pain ? 50 

Either grief will not come, or if it must, 

Do not forecast. 
And while it cometh it is almost past. 

Away distrust! 
My God hath promis'd, he is just. 55 



310 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE SIZE 

Content thee, greedie heart. 
Modest and moderate joyes to those that have 
Title to more hereafter when they part, 

Are passing brave. 
Let th' upper springs into the low 5 

Descend and fall, and thou dost flow. 

What though some have a fraught 
Of cloves and nutmegs, and in cinamon sail; 

If thou hast wherewithal! to spice a draught, 
When griefs prevail, 10 

And for the future time art heir 
To th' Isle of spices, is't not fair? 

To be in both worlds full 
Is more then God was, who was hungrie here. 

Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disanull ? 15 

Enact good cheer ? 
Lay out thy joy, yet hope to save it ? 
Wouldst thou both eat thy cake and have it ? 

Great joyes are all at once, 
But little do reserve themselves for more. 20 

Those have their hopes ; these what they have 
renounce, 

And live on score. 
Those are at home, these journey still 
And meet the rest on Sion's hill. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 311 

Thy Saviour sentenc'd joy, 25 

And in the flesh condemn'd it as unfit, 

At least in lump, for such doth oft destroy; 

Whereas a bit 
Doth tice us on to hopes of more. 
And for the present health restore. 30 

A Christian's state and case 
Is not a corpulent, but a thinne and spare 

Yet active strength ; whose long and bonie 
face 

Content and care 
Do seem to equally divide — 35 

Like a pretender, not a bride. 

Wherefore sit down, good heart. 
Grasp not at much, for fear thou losest all. 

If comforts fell according to desert, 39 

They would great frosts and snows destroy ; 
For we should count, Since the last joy. 

Then close again the seam 
Which thou hast open'd. Do not spread thy robe 
In hope of great things. Call to minde thy 
dream, 

An earthly globe, 45 

On whose meridian was engraven. 
These seas are tears, and heavn the haven. 



312 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE METHOD 

PooRE heart, lament. 
For since thy God refuseth still. 

There is some rub, some discontent, 
Which cools his will. 

Thy Father covld 5 

Quickly effect what thou dost move. 
For he is Power ; and sure he would. 
For he is Love. 

Go search this thing. 
Tumble thy breast and turn thy book. 10 
If thou hadst lost a glove or ring, 
Wouldst thou not look.? 

What do I see 
Written above there ? Yesterday 

I did behave me carelesly 15 

When I did fray. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 313 



And should God's eare 
To such indifferents chained be 

Who do not their own motions heare ? 

Is God lesse free? 20 

But stay! What's there? 
Late when I would have something done, 
I had a motion to forbear. 
Yet I went on. 

And should God's eare, 25 

Which needs not man, be ty'd to those 
Who heare not him, but quickly heare 
His utter foes ? 

Then once more pray. 
Down with thy knees, up with thy voice. 30 
Seek pardon first, and God will say, 
Glad heart rejoyce. 



314 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



HOPE 

I GAVE to Hope a watch of mine; but he 

An anchor gave to me. 
Then an old prayer-book I did present; 

And he an optick sent. 
With that I gave a viall full of tears; 5 

But he a few green eares. 
Ah Loyterer! I'le no more, no more I'le bring. 

I did expect a ring. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 315 



SUBMISSION 

But that Thou art my wisdome, Lord, 
And both mine eyes are thine, 

My minde would be extreamly stirr'd 
For missing my designe. 

Were it not better to bestow 6 

Some place and power on me ? 

Then should thy praises with me grow, 
And share in my degree. 

But when I thus dispute and grieve, 

I do resume my sight, 10 

And pilfring what I once did give, 
Disseize thee of thy right. 

How know I, if thou shouldst me raise. 
That I should then raise thee ? 

Perhaps great places and thy praise 15 
Do not so well agree. 

Wherefore unto my gift I stand; 

I will no more advise. 
Onely do thou lend me a hand. 

Since thou hast both mine eyes. 20 



316 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



DULNESSE 

Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull, 

As if I were all earth ? 
O give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth 
Praise thee brim-full! 

The wanton lover in a curious strain 5 

Can praise his fairest fair, 
And with quaint metaphors her curled hair 
Curl o're again. 

Thou art my lovelinesse, my life, my light, 

Beautie alone to me. 10 

Thy bloudy death and undeserv'd makes thee 
Pure red and white. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 317 



When all perfections as but one appeare — 
That, those thy form doth show — 
The very dust where thou dost tread and go 15 
Makes beauties here. 

Where are my Hues then ? My approaches ? Views ? 

Where are my window-songs ? 
Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs 

Sharpen their Muse. 20 

But I am lost in flesh, whose sugred lyes 

Still mock me and grow bold. 
Sure thou didst put a minde there, if I could 

Finde where it lies. 24 

Lord, cleare thy gift, that wth a constant wit 

I may but look towards thee. 
Look onely; for to love thee, who can be, 
What angel fit ? 



318 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE COLLAR 

I STRUCK the board, and cry'd, No more ! 

I will abroad. 
What ? Shall I ever sigh and pine ? 
My lines and life are free, free as the rode, 

Loose as the winde, as large as store. 5 

Shall I be still in suit? 
Have I no harvest but a thorn 
To let me bloud, and not restore 
What I have lost with cordiall fruit ? 

Sure there was wine 10 

Before my sighs did drie it. There was corn 
Before my tears did drown it. 
Is the yeare onely lost to me ? 

Have I no bayes to crown it? 
No flowers, no garlands gay ? All blasted ? 15 
All wasted? 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 319 



Not so, my heart! But there is fruit, 
And thou hast hands. 
Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute 20 
Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage, 

Thy rope of sands. 
Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee 
Good cable, to enforce and draw. 

And be thy law, 25 

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. 
Away! Take heed! 
I win abroad. 
Call in thy death's head there. Tie up thy fears. 
He that forbears 30 

To suit and serve his need 
Deserves his load. 
But as I rav*d and grew more fierce and wilde 
At every word. 
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe ! 35 
And I reply'd, My Lord. 



320 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE BUNCH OF GRAPES 

Joy, I did lock thee up, but some bad man 
Hath let thee out again; 

And now, me thinks, I am where I began 
Sev^n yeares ago. One vogue and vein, 
One aire of thoughts usurps my brain. 5 

I did toward Canaan draw, but now I am 

Brought back to the Red sea, the sea of shame. 

For as the Jews of old by God*s command 

Travell'd and saw no town, 9. 

So now each Christian hath his journeys spann'd« 

Their storie pennes and sets us down. 

A single deed is small renown. 
God's works are wide, and let in future times. 
His ancient justice overflows our crimes* 14 



IX. RESTLESSNESS S21 



Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds. 

Our Scripture-dew drops fast. 
We have our sands and serpents, tents and shrowds. 

Alas! Our murmurings come not last. 

But where's the cluster.^ Where's the taste 
Of mine inheritance ? Lord, if I must borrow, 20 
Let me as well take up their joy as sorrow. 

But can he want the grape who hath the wine ? 
I have their fruit and more. 

Blessed be God, who prospered Noah's vine 

And made it bring forth grapes good store. 25 
But much more him I must adore 

Who of the law's sowre juice sweet wine did make, 

Ev'n God himself being pressed for my sake. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE SEARCH 



Whither, O, whither art thou fled, 
My Lord, my Love? 

My searches are my daily bread, 
Yet never prove. 

My knees pierce th' earth, mine eies the skie, 
And yet the sphere 6 

And centre both to me denie 

That thou art there. 

Yet can I mark how herbs below 

Grow green and gay, 10 

As if to meet thee they did know, 

While I decay. 

Yet can I mark how starres above 

Simper and shine. 
As having keyes unto thy love, 15 

While poore I pine. 

I sent a sigh to seek thee out, 

Deep drawn in pain, 

Wing'd like an arrow; but my scout 

Returns in vain. 20 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 323 



I tun'd another (having store) 

Into a grone, 
Because the search was dumbe before; 

But all was one. 

Lord, dost thou some new fabrick mold, 25 
Which favour winnes 

And keeps thee present, leaving th' old 
Unto their sinnes ? 

Where is my God ? What hidden place 

Conceals thee still ? 30 

What covert dare eclipse thy face? 
Is it thy will ? 

O let not that of any thing! 

Let rather brasse, 
Or steel, or mountains be thy ring, 35 

And I will passe. 

Thy will such an intrenching is 

As passeth thought. 
To it all strength, all subtilties 

Are things of nought. 40 



324 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



Thy will such a strange distance is 

As that to it 
East and West touch, the poles do kisse. 

And parallels meet. 

Since then my grief must be as large 45 

As is thy space, 
Thy distance, from me; see my charge, 

Lord, see my case. 

O take these barres, these lengths away! 

Turn, and restore me. 50 

Be not Almightie, let me say, 

Against, but for me. 

When thou dost turn and wilt be neare. 

What edge so keen. 
What point so piercing, can appeare 55 

To come between ? 

For as thy absence doth excell 

All distance kndwn, 
So doth thy nearenesse bear the bell, 

Making two one. 60 



IX. RESTLESSNESS S25 



ASSURANCE 

O SPITEFULL bitter thought! 
Bitterly spitefull thought! Couldst thou invent 
So high a torture ? Is such poyson bought ? 
Doubtlesse but in the way of punishment, 

When wit contrives to meet with thee, 5 
No such rank poyson can there be. 

Thou said'st but even now 
That all was not so fair as I conceiv'd 

Betwixt my God and me: that I allow 9 
And coin large hopes, but that I was deceived ; 
Either the league was broke or neare it, 
And that I had great cause to fear it. 

And what to this ? What more 13 
Could poyson, if it had a tongue, expresse ? 
What is thy aim ? Wouldst thou unlock the 
doore 
To cold despairs and gnawing pensivenesse ? 
Wouldst thou raise devils ? I see, I know, 
I writ thy purpose long ago. 



326 IX. RESTLESSNESS 

But I will to my Father, 
Who heard thee say it. O most gracious Lord, 20 

If all the hope and comfort that I gather 
Were from my self, I had not half a word. 
Not half a letter to oppose 
What is objected by my foes. 

But thou art my desert, 25 

And in this league, which now my foes invade, 

Thou art not onely to perform thy part. 
But also mine; as when the league was made 
Thou didst at once thy self indite. 
And hold my hand while I did write. 30 

Wherefore if thou canst fail. 

Then can thy truth and I. But while rocks stand, 

And rivers stirre, thou canst not shrink or quail. 

Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband. 

Then shalt thou be my rock and tower, 35 

And make their ruine praise thy power. 

Now foolish thought go on. 
Spin out thy thread and make thereof a coat 

To hide thy shame; for thou hast cast a bone 
Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy 
throat. 40 

What for it self love once began. 
Now love and truth will end in man. 



IK. RESTLESSNESS 327 

CONSCIENCE 

Peace pratler, do not lowre! 
Not a fair look but thou dost call it foul. 
Not a sweet dish but thou dost call it sowre. 
Musick to thee doth howl. 
By listning to thy chatting fears 5 

I have both lost mine eyes and eares. 

Pratler, no more, I say! 
My thoughts must work, but Uke a noiselesse 

sphere ; 
Harmonious peace must rock them all the day. 

No room for pratlers there. 10 

If thou persistest, I will tell thee 
That I have physick to expell thee. 

And the receit shall be 
My Saviour's bloud. Whenever at his board 
I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me 15 

And leaves thee not a word; 
No, not a tooth or nail to scratch, 
And at my actions carp or catch. 

Yet if thou talkest still, 19 

Besides my physick know there's some for thee; 
Some wood and nails to make a staffe or bill 
For those that trouble me. 
The bloudie crosse of my deare Lord 
Is both my physick and my sword. 



328 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE CROSSE 

What is this strange and uncouth thing ? 

To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die, 
Untill I had some place where I might sing, 

And serve thee; and not onely I, 
But all my wealth and familie might combine 5 
To set thy honour up as our designe. 

And then when after much delay. 

Much wrastling, many a combate, this deare 
end, 
So much desir'd, is giv'n, to take away 

My power to serve thee! To unbend 10 

All my abilities, my designes confound. 
And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground ! 

One ague dwelleth in my bones. 

Another in my soul (the memorie 
What I would do for thee if once my grones 15 

Could be allow'd for harmonic). 
I am in all a weak disabled thing. 
Save in the sight thereof where strength doth sting. 



rX. RESTLESSNESS 



Besides, things sort not to my will 

Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown. 20 
Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still, 

Taking me up to throw me down. 
So that ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped 
I am to grief alive, to them as dead. 

To have my aim, and yet to be 25 

Farther from it then when I bent my bow; 
To make my hopes my torture and the fee 

Of all my woes another wo. 
Is in the midst of delicates to need. 
And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed. 30 

Ah my deare Father, ease my smart! 

These contrarieties crush me. These crosse 
actions 
Doe winde a rope about, and cut my heart. 
And yet since these thy contradictions 
Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne — 35 

With but foure words, my words, Thy will he done. 



330 IX. RESTLESSNESS 



THE PILGRIMAGE 

I TRAVELLED Oil, Seeing the hill where lay 
My expectation. 
A long it was and weary way. 
The gloomy cave of Desperation 
I left on th' one, and on the other side 5 

The rock of Pride. 

And so I came to phansie's medow strow'd 
With many a flower. 
Fain would I here have made abode, 
But I was quicken'd by my houre. 10 
So to care's cops I came, and there got through 
With much ado. 

That led me to the wilde of passion, which 
Some call the wold; 
A wasted place, but sometimes rich. 15 
Here I was robb'd of all my gold 
Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd 
Close to my side. 



IX. RESTLESSNESS 331 



At length I got unto the gladsome hill, 

Where lay my hope, 20 

Where lay my heart. And climbing still. 
When I had gain'd the brow and top, 
A lake of brackish waters on the ground 

Was all I found. 24 

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting 
Of swarming fears, 
I fell and cry'd, Alas my King! 
Can both the way and end be tears ? 
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd 

I was deceiv'd; 30 

My hill was further. So I flung away, 
Yet heard a crie 
Just as I went, None goes that way 
And lives! If that be all, said I, 
After so foul a journey death is fair, 35 

And but a chair. 



X 

SUFFERING 



PREFACE 

IN one of the closing poems of the preceding 
Group, The Crosse, Herbert complains that 
ill health is crippling his powers and rendering 
him unfit for work. Undoubtedly illness had much 
to do with the restlessness and despondency which 
the poems of Group IX describe. The fear of it 
had long been in his mind, and was expressed as 
early as 1622 in that letter to his mother from 
which I have already quoted. During the Crisis 
period it comes out in The Priesthood as an- 
other reason for hesitation when he is just coming 
to a decision. 

Should I presume 
To wear thy habit, the severe attire 

My slender compositions might consume* 
I am both foul and brittle. 

Herbert's constitution was naturally frail. Speak- 
ing of his sichiesses in Easter Wings he says, My 
tender age in sorroiv did heginne. In the letter of 1 6 1 
to his mother he mentions my late ague. In 1617 he 
writes his stepfather: You know I was sick last 
vacation, neither am I yet recovered, so that I am 
fain ever and anon to buy somewhat tending towards 
my health. Walton says that "He had often de- 



336 PREFACE TO 

sign'd to leave the University and decline all Study, 
which he thought did impair his health, for he had 
a body apt to a Consumption and to Fevers and 
other infirmities." Later, Walton writes: "About 
the year 1629 Mr. Herbert was seiz'd with a sharp 
Quotidian Ague. He became his own Physitian 
and cur'd himself of his Ague by forbearing Drink, 
and not eating any Meat, no not Mutton nor a 
Hen or Pidgeon, unless they were salted. And by 
such a constant Dyet he removed his Ague, but 
with inconveniencies that were worse; for he 
brought upon himself a disposition to Rheumes 
and other weaknesses and a supposed Consump- 
tion." 

Probably this severe illness occurred somewhat 
earlier in the Crisis period than Walton here states ; 
for Herbert married in March, 1629, and W^alton 
in another passage says that before '*he declar'd 
his resolution both to marry and to enter into the 
Sacred Orders of Priesthood ... his health was 
apparently improv'd to a good degree of strength 
and chearfulness." In any case, it was but a few 
years later that he undertook his work at Bemerton 
with consumption well under way. The seeds of 
it were provided by his natural constitution; its 
development was advanced by the physical and 
mental experiences of the Crisis; and its end was 
assured by his taking up a new and anxious form of 
life under circumstances where introspection and 
depression were inevitable. 



SUFFERING 337 

There is no sharp dividing Hne parting this 
Group of poems from the preceding. They are 
separated rather by the varying degrees of empha- 
sis laid on motives common to the two. Through- 
out them both ring notes of disappointment over 
the priesthood, despondency, rebelhon, dulness, 
self-reproach, penitence, mental perplexity, bodily 
pain, fear of God's alienation, and the bitterness of 
lifelong purposes coming to an end. This sad ma- 
terial I have tried to set in order. The poems which 
are chiefly dominated by the earlier emotions 
mentioned, I place in Group IX; those ruled by 
the later, in Group X. In the former, the mental 
side of his distress is uppermost, — his intellectual 
discontent. In the second, physical suffering 
declares itself, which still, after the manner of 
the love-poets, he attributes to some possible fault 
in himself and negligence on the part of the great 
Friend. 

It is noticeable how comparatively slight a place 
in these laments Herbert gives to regrets for the 
broken priesthood. While it seems certain that two 
clear purposes ran together throughout Herbert's 
life, the purpose to be a priest and that to be a poet, 
the former remained only a purpose until twelve 
thirteenths of his short life were gone. The latter 
passed out of the stage of resolution and became a 
diligently prosecuted reality as early as 1610. That 
his poetic work is to end he mourns in Grief, 
DuLNESSE, and The Forerunners, and to it he 



338 PREFACE TO 

alludes at the close of The Flower. But there is 
little direct mention of the cessation of his priestly 
work. I think this must be explained by the highly 
individualistic conception of religion which he held. 
Repeatedly I have pointed out how his holy aspira- 
tions confine themselves to drawing close the ties 
between God and his own soul. Possibly he may 
have regarded these essentially personal relations 
as those best fitted for expression in poetry. At any 
rate, it is of his own salvation that he regularly 
speaks. He will be God's child ; will love Him and 
be loved. The desire to sanctify himself for the 
sake of others rarely appears. We cannot compre- 
hend a great nature unless we are willing to ob- 
serve its limitations. Herbert shared those of liis 
age. Its noblest work was to take the single soul 
and set it before God. Piety as personal allegiance 
was its special Gospel, a partial Gospel no doubt, 
as are the thoughts about religion of each succeed- 
ing age. But partial as it was, it was a real and 
weighty part, and it made a permanent contribu- 
tion to the spiritual resources of our race. His 
priesthood Herbert accordingly thought of as pri- 
marily the dedication of himself to God. When it 
appeared that God wanted him not here, but above, 
he experienced few regrets over priestly work left 
undone. Regrets he has. Sighs and groans abound. 
But they are those of the lover conscious of his 
own lack of desert, and uncertain whether at last 
he may find favor in the loved one's sight. 



SUFFERING 339 

On the other hand, Herbert has for more than 
twenty years been studious of poetry. In it he has 
been conscious of something more hke pubhc ser- 
vice than even the priesthood yielded. The latter 
has been principally a means of effecting his own 
salvation; the former, of obeying the laws of 
beauty, and counteracting certain evil tendencies 
of his time. To its delicate demands he still steadily 
holds himself. These closing cries of pain are 
guarded, and given as beautiful a form as ever 
The Elixer or Mortification had in the proud 
Cambridge days. I find no falling off, no slov- 
enliness, in all this preoccupied period. The 
Flow^er is one of his most subtly beautiful pieces, 
though declaring itself to be very late. And The 
Forerunners, Vertue, Life, and The Glance, 
wliich I believe must stand in the Death Group, 
stand also in the very front rank of Herbert's 
performance. 

I have already indicated the scheme of my 
arrangement. It follows the gradually increasing 
prominence of the consciousness of bodily ill. 
There runs through the early poems of the Group 
— Grieve Not, Confession, The Storm, Com- 
plaining — a fear that God has withdrawn Him- 
self. This changes in the Afflictions, Sighs and 
Grones, and Longing, to a sense of physical pain, 
a pain which he believes, though sent by God, is 
sent in love. In The Glimpse, A Parodie, Jo- 
seph's Coat, and Jesu, there springs up a kind of 



340 PREFACE 

tender playfulness between him, the sufferer, and 
the Friend who brings the bitter gift. And in one 
of the sweet intervals of suffering, reported in 
The Flower, full joy and peace are felt in the 
presence of the loved one. 



X. SUFFERING S41 



BITTER-SWEET 

Ah my deare angrie Lord, 

Since thou dost love, yet strike, 

Cast down, yet help afford, 
Sure I will do the like. 

I will complain, yet praise; 

I will bewail, approve; 
And all my sowre-sweet dayes 

I win lament, and love. 



342 X. SUFFERING 



JUSTICE 

I CANNOT skill of these thy wayes. 
Lord, thou didst make me, yet thou woundest me; 
Lord, thou dost wound me, yet thou dost relieve 
me; 
Lord, thou relievest, yet I die by thee; 4 

Lord, thou dost kill me, yet thou dost reprieve me. 

But when I mark my life and praise. 
Thy justice me most fitly payes; 
For I do praise thee, yet I praise thee not; 

My prayers mean thee, yet my prayers stray ; 
I would do well, yet sinne the hand hath got; 10 
My sold doth love thee, yet it loves delay, 
I cannot skill of these my wayes. 



X. SUFFERING 343 

GRIEVE NOT THE HOLY SPIRIT, &c. 

(EPHESIANS VI, 30) 

And art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove, 
When I am sowre 
And crosse thy love ? 
Grieved for me ? The God of strength and power 
Griev'd for a worm, which when I tread 5 
I passe away and leave it dead ? 

Then weep mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve. 
Weep foolish heart. 
And weeping live. 
For death is drie as dust. Yet if ye part, 10 

End as the night whose sable hue 
Your sinnes expresse: melt into dew. 

When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at doore. 
Cry out. Get hence, 
Or cry no more. 15 

Almightie God doth grieve, he puts on sense. 
I sinne not to my grief alone. 
But to my God's too; he doth grone. 



344 X. SUFFERING 



Oh take tliy lute, and tune it to a strain 

Which may with thee 20 

All day complain. 
There can no discord but in ceasing be. 
Marbles can weep; and surely strings 
More bowels have then such hard things. 

Lord, I adjudge my self to tears and grief, 25 
Ev'n endlesse tears 
Without relief. 
If a cleare spring for me no time forbears. 
But runnes although I be not drie, 
I am no Crystall, what shall I } 30 

Yet if I wail not still, since still to wail 
Nature denies. 
And flesh would fail 
If my deserts were masters of mine eyes, 34 
Lord, pardon, for thy sonne makes good 
My want of tears with store of bloud. 



X. SUFFERING 345 



CONFESSION 

O WHAT a cunning guest 
Is this same grief! Within my heart I made 

Closets; and in them many a chest; 

And Hke a master in my trade, 
In those chests, boxes; in each box, a till; 5 
Yet grief knows all, and enters when he will. 

No scrue, no piercer can 
Into a piece of timber work and winde 

As God's afflictions into man, 

When he a torture hath design'd. 10 

They are too subtill for the subt'llest hearts. 
And fall, hke rheumes, upon the tendrest parts. 



346 X. SUFFERING 



We are the earth, and they, 
Like moles within us, heave, and cast about; 

And till they foot and clutch their prey 16 
They never cool, much lesse give out. 
No smith can make such locks but they have keyes. 
Closets are halls to them; and hearts, high-wayes. 

Onely an open breast 
Doth shut them out, so that they cannot enter. 20 
Or, if they enter, cannot rest 
But quickly seek some new adventure. 
Smooth open hearts no fastning have, but fiction 
Doth give a hold and handle to affliction. 

Wherefore my faults and sinnes, 25 

Lord, I acknowledge. Take thy plagues away. 
For since confession pardon winnes, 
I challenge here the brightest day, 
The clearest diamond. Let them do their best. 
They shall be thick and cloudie to my breast. 30 



X. SUFFERING 347 



THE STORM 

If as the windes and waters here below 

Do flie and flow, 

My sighs and tears as busie were above, 

Sure they would move 

And much affect thee, as tempestuous times 5 

Amaze poore mortals and object their crimes. 

Starres have their storms, ev'n in a high degree. 

As well as we. 

A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse 9 

Hath a strange force. 

It quits the earth, and mounting more and more, 

Dares to assault thee and besiege thy doore. 

There it stands knocking, to thy musick's wrong, 

And drowns the song. 

Glorie and honour are set by till it 15 

An answer get. 

Poets have wrong'd poore storms. Such dayes are 
best; 

They purge the aire without, within the breast. 



348 X. SUFFERING 



SION 

Lord, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old. 
When Solomon's temple stood and flourished! 
Where most things were of purest gold. 

The wood was all embellished 
With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare. 5 
All show'd the builder's, crav'd the seer's care. 

Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state 
Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim; 
Something there was that sow'd debate. 

Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim, 10 
And now thy Architecture meets with sinne; 
For all thy frame and fabrick is within. 

There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, 

Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it. 

The fight is hard on either part. 15 

Great God doth fight, he doth submit. 
All Solomon's sea of brasse and world of stone 
Is not so deare to thee as one good grone. 

And truly brasse and stones are heavie things, 
Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee. 20 
But grones are quick and full of wings, 

And all their motions upward be. 
And ever as they mount, like larks they sing. 
The note is sad, yet musick for a king. 



X. SUFFERING 349 



COMPLAINING 

Do not beguile my heart. 
Because thou art 
My power and wisdome. Put me not to shame. 
Because I am 4 

Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls. 

Thou art the Lord of glorie. 
The deed and storie 
Are both thy due. But I a silly flie. 
That live or die 
According as the weather falls. 10 

Art thou all justice, Lord ? 
Shows not thy word 
More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye. 
To weep or crie? 
Have I no parts but those of grief ? 15 

Let not thy wrathfull power 
Afflict my houre. 
My inch of life. Or let thy gracious power 
Contract my houre, 
That I may climbe and finde relief. 20 



350 X. SUFFERING 



^ AFFLICTION 

Kill me not ev'ry day, 
Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me 
Is more then all my deaths can be, 

Though I in broken pay 
Die over each houre of Methusalem*s stay. 6 

If all men's tears were let 
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine. 

What were they all comparM to thine ? 
Wherein if they were set, 9 
They would discolour thy most bloudy sweat. 

Thou art my grief alone. 
Thou Lord, conceal it not. And as thou art 
All my delight, so all my smart. 

Thy cro^se took up in one. 
By way of imprest, all my future mone. 15 



X. SUFFERING 



351 



AFFLICTION 

My heart did heave, and there came forth, O 

God! 
By that I knew that thou wast in the grief, 
To guide and govern it to my reHef, 
Making a scepter of the rod. 

Hadst thou not had thy part, 5 

Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart. 

But since thy breath gave me both Hfe and shape, 
Thou knowst my talHes ; and when there's assign'd 
So much breath to a sigh, what's then behinde ? 
Or if some yeares with it escape, 10 

The sigh then onely is 
A gale to bring me sooner to my bhsse. 

Thy hfe on earth was grief, and thou art still 
Constant unto it, making it to be 
A point of honour now to grieve in me, 15 

And in thy members suffer ill. 
They who lament one crosse. 
Thou dying dayly, praise thee to thy losse. 



352 X. SUFFERING 



AFFLICTION 

Broken in pieces all asunder. 
Lord, hunt me not> 
A thing forgot. 
Once a poore creature, now a wonder, 

A wonder tortured in the space 5 

Betwixt this world and that of grace* 

My thoughts are all a case of knives> 
Wounding my heart 
With scattered smart, 
As watring pots give flowers their lives. 10 
Nothing their furie can control! 
While they do wound and prick my soul. 



X. SUFFERING 353 



All my attendants are at strife, 
Quitting their place 
Unto my face. 15 

Nothing performs the task of life. 

The elements are let loose to fight. 
And while I live trie out their right. 

Oh help, my God! Let not their plot 

Kill them and me, 20 

And also thee. 
Who art my life. Dissolve the knot, 
As the sunne scatters by his Hght 
All the rebellions of the night. 

Then shall those powers which work for grief 
Enter thy pay, 26 

And day by day 
Labour thy praise and my rehef ; 

With care and courage building me, 
Till I reach heav'n, and much more thee. 



354 X. SUFFERING 



SIGHS AND GRONES 

O DO not use me 
After my sinnes! Look not on my desert, 

But on thy glorie! Then thou wilt reform 
And not refuse me; for thou onely art 

The mightie God, but I a silhe worm. 5 

O do not bruise me! 

O do not urge me! 
For what account can thy ill steward make ? 

I have abus'd thy stock, destroyed thy woods, 
Suckt all thy magazens. My head did ake, 10 
Till it found out how to consume thy goods. 
O do not scourge me! 



X. SUFFERING 355 



O do not blinde me! 
I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night 

Should thicken all my powers, because my lust 
Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light. 16 
But I am frailtie, and already dust. 

O do not grinde me! 

O do not fill me 
With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath! 20 

For thou hast other vessels full of bloud, 
A part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath, 
Ev'n unto death. Since he di'd for my good, 
O do not kill me! 

But O reprieve me! 25 
For thou hast lije and death at thy command. 
Thou art both Judge and Saviour^ feast and 
rody 
Cordiall and Corrosive. Put not thy hand 
Into the bitter box, but O my God, 

My God, relieve me! 30 



356 X. SUFFERING 



LONGING 

With sick and famisht eyes, 
With doubling knees and weary bones, 
To thee my cries. 
To thee my grones. 
To thee my sighs, my tears ascend. 5 

No end ? 

My throat, my soul is hoarse. 
My heart is wither'd Hke a ground 
Which thou dost curse. 
My thoughts turn round 10 
And make me giddie. Lord, I fall. 
Yet call. 

From thee all pitie flows. 
Mothers are kinde because thou art. 

And dost dispose 15 

To them a part. 
Their infants them, and they suck thee 
More free. 



X. SUFFERING 357 

Bowels of pitie, heare! 
Lord of my soul, love of my minde, 20 

Bow down thine eare! 
Let not the winde 
Scatter my words, and in the same 
Thy name! 

Look on my sorrows round! 25 

Mark well my furnace! O what flames. 
What heats abound! 
What griefs, what shames! 
Consider, Lord! Lord, bow thine eare 

And hearel 30 

Lord Jesu, thou didst bow 
» Thy dying head upon the tree; 
O be not now 
More dead to me! 
Lord heare ! Shall he that made the eare, 35 
Not heare ? 

Behold, thy dust doth stirre. 
It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee. 
Wilt thou deferre 
To succour me, 40 

Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumme 
Sayes, Come? 



358 X, SUFFERING 

To thee help appertains. 
Hast thou left all things to their course, 

And laid the reins 45 

Upon the horse ? 
Is all lockt? Hath a sinner's plea 
No key ? 

Indeed the world's thy book. 
Where all things have their lease assign'd; 

Yet a meek look 61 

Hath interlin'd. 
Thy board is full, yet humble guests 
Finde nests. 

Thou tarriest, while I die 55 

And fall to nothing. Thou dost reigne 
And rule on high, 
While I remain 
In bitter grief. Yet am I stil'd 

Thy childe. 60 

Lord, didst thou leave thy throne 
Not to relieve ? How can it be 

That thou art grown 
Thus hard to me ? 
Were sinne alive, good cause there were 65 
To bear. 



X. SUFFERING 359 



But now both sinne is dead, 
And all thy promises live and bide. 
That wants his head; 
These speak and chide, 70 

And in thy bosome poure my tears 
As theirs. 

Lord Jesu, heare my heart. 
Which hath been broken now so long, 

That ev'ry part 75 

Hath got a tongue! 
Thy beggars grow; rid them away 
To day. 

My love, my sweetnesse, heare! 
By these thy feet, at wliich my heart 80 

Lies all the yeare. 
Pluck out thy dart 
And heal my troubled breast which cryes. 
Which dyes. 



360 X. SUFFERING 



THE GLIMPSE 

Whither away delight ? 
Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart, 

And give me up to night ? 
For many weeks of lingring pain and smart 
But one half houre of comfort for my heart ? 5 

Me thinks delight should have 
More skill in musick and keep better time. 

Wert thou a winde or wave, 
They quickly go and come with lesser crime. 9 
Flowers look about, and die not in their prime. 

Thy short abode and stay 
Feeds not, but addes to the desire of meat. 

Lime begg'd of old (they say) 
A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat, 
Which by the spring's accesse grew much more 
great. 15 



X. SUFFERING 361 



In hope of thee my heart 
Pickt here and there a crumme, and would not die; 

But constant to his part 
Whenas my fears foretold this, did replie, 
A slender thread a gentle guest will tie. 20 

Yet if the heart that wept 
Must let thee go, return when it doth knock. 

Although thy heap be kept 
For future times, the droppings of the stock 24 
May oft break forth, and never break the lock. 

If I have more to spinne, 
The wheel shall go so that thy stay be short. 

Thou knowst how grief and sinne 
Disturb the work. O make me not their sport, 
Who by thy coming may be made a court! 30 



X. SUFFERING 



A PARODIE 

Soul's joy, when thou art gone, 

And I alone — 

Which cannot be, 
Because thou dost abide with me 

And I depend on thee — 5 

Yet when thou dost suppresse 

The cheerfulnesse 

Of thy abode, 
And in my powers not stirre abroad, 

But leave me to my load; 10 

O what a damp and shade 

Doth me invade! 

No stormie night 
Can so afflict or so affright 

As thy eclipsed light. 15 



X. SUFFERING 363 



Ah Lord! Do not withdraw, 

Lest want of aw 

Make Sinne appeare, 
And when thou dost but shine lesse cleare, 
Say that thou art not here. 20 

And then what hfe I have, 

While Sinne doth rave. 

And falsly boast 
That I may seek but thou art lost. 

Thou, and alone thou, know'st. 25 

O what a deadly cold 

Doth me infold! 

I half beleeve 
That Sinne sayes true. But while I grieve, 
Thou com'st and dost relieve. 30 



S64 X. SUFFERING 



DISCIPLINE 

Throw away thy rod, 
Throw away thy wrath. 

my God, 
Take the gentle path. 

For my heart's desire 5 

Unto thine is bent. 

1 aspire 
To a full consent. 

Not a word or look 
I affect to own, 10 

But by book, 
And thy book alone. 

Though I fail, I weep. 
Though I halt in pace, 

Yet I creep 15 

To the throne of grace. 



X. SUFFERING 365 



Then let wrath remove. 
Love will do the deed: 

For with love 
Stonie hearts will bleed. 20 

Love is swift of foot. 
Love's a man of warre, 

And can shoot, 
And can hit from farre. 

Who can scape his bow ? 25 

That which wrought on thee. 

Brought thee low. 
Needs must work on me. 

Throw away thy rod. 
Though man frailties hath, 30 

Thou art God. 
Throw away thy wrath. 



X. SUFFERING 



JOSEPH'S COAT 

Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, 

Thrown down I fall into a bed and rest. 
Sorrow hath chang'd its note; such is his will 

Who changeth all things as him pleaseth best. 
For well he knows if but one grief and smart 5 

Among my many had his full career, 
Sure it would carrie with it ev*n my heart. 

And both would runne untill they found a biere 
To fetch the bodie, both being due to grief. 

But he hath spoil'd the race, and giv'n to an- 
guish 10 
One of Joye's coats, ticing it with relief 

To linger in me, and together languish. 
I live to shew his power who once did bring 
My joyes to weep, and now my griefs to sing. 



X. SUFFERING 367 



JESU 

Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name 

Is deeply carved there. But th' other week 
A great affliction broke the Uttle frame, 

Ev'n all to pieces; which I went to seek. 
And first I found the corner where was J, 5 

After where E S, and next where U was 
graved- 
When I had got these parcels, instantly 

I sat me down to spell them; and perceived 
That to my broken heart he was / ease you. 

And to my whole is J ES U. 10 



368 X. SUFFERING 



THE FLOWER 



How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
Are thy returns! Ev*n as the flowers in spring. 

To which, besides their own demean. 
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 

Grief melts away 5 

Like snow in May, 
As if there were no such cold thing. 

Who would have thought my shriveFd heart 
Could have recovered greennesse ? It was gone 

Quite under ground, as flowers depart 10 
To see their mother-root when they have blown; 
Where they together 
All the hard weather, 
Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 

These are thy wonders, Lord of power, 15 
Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell 

And up to heaven in an houre; 
Making a chiming of a passing-bell. 
We say amisse. 
This or that is; 20 

Thy word is all, if we could spell. 



X. SUFFERING 369 

that I once past changing were, 

Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither! 
Many a spring I shoot up fair, 24 

Off 'ring at heav'n, growing and groning thither; 
Nor doth my flower 
Want a spring-showre, 
My sinnes and I joining together. 

But while I grow in a straight Kne, 29 

Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own. 

Thy anger comes, and I decline. 
What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone 
Where all things burn, 
When thou dost turn. 
And the least frown of thine is shown ? 35 

And now in age I bud again. 
After so many deaths I live and write; 

1 once more smell the dew and rain. 
And relish versing. O my onely light. 

It cannot be 40 

That I am he 
On whom thy tempests fell all night. 

These are thy wonders. Lord of love. 
To make us see we are but flowers that glide. 

Which when we once can finde and prove, 
Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 46 

Who would be more, 
Swelling through store, 
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 



XI 

DEATH 



PREFACE 

IN the parish record of Bemerton appears this 
entry: "Mr. George Herbert Esq., Parson of 
Fuggleston and Bemerton, was buried 3 day of 
March 1632." This record is confirmed by Her- 
bert's will, which was proved on March 12, 1632. 
As the new year then began on Lady Day, March 
25, the year would be our 1633. This date is con- 
firmed by Herbert's letter to Ferrar, inclosing his 
Notes on Valdesso, which bears date of September 
29, 1632; and by the will of his niece, which was 
proved by Herbert in October, 1632. Herbert 
was instituted on April 26, 1630, so that the life 
at Bemerton covered almost exactly three years. 
Aubrey tells how Herbert " was buried (according 
to his own desire) with the singing service for the 
burial of the dead, by the singing men of Sarum." 
He was laid, according to Walton, "in his own 
Church under the Altar, and cover'd with a Grave- 
stone without any inscription." He died without 
issue. His wife, whom Aubrey thought a strikingly 
handsome woman, a few years later married Sir 
Robert Cook, and by him had children. 

Herbert had long notice of death. Consumption 
overcame him slowly, and allowed him to retain 
his mental powers to the last. Until within a few 



374 PREFACE TO 

months of the end, he read Prayers each day in the 
little chapel opposite his house. And though a 
month before his death Mr. Duncon, sent by Fer- 
rar, found him unable to sit up, his discourse was 
such, Mr. Duncon told Walton, " that after almost 
forty years it remained still fresh in his memory." 
The Sunday before he died he sang his own songs, 
accompanying himself as usual on the lute. Ac- 
cording to Walton he died without pain, in his last 
hour speaking with his family and friend about 
religion, business, and the care of those he was to 
leave. 

To this fact, that Herbert's long dying was a life 
in death, we owe the splendid series of his death- 
songs. A few of those included in the preceding 
Group may possibly belong to the period of Crisis; 
but the great body of them, and probably all that 
appear in the present Group, spring from the last 
year or two of Herbert's Hfe. As we have seen, 
every phase of his inner moods was interesting to 
him, and easily became a poetic subject out of 
which something beautiful might be fashioned. If 
because our distresses do not so readily put on 
a coat of joy, we sometimes hold it half a sin that 
Herbert should put in words the grief he feels, 
we should remember that he published none of 
his poems, and that in poetry he probably found 
one of his few defences against pain. Wounded I 
sing ; tormented I indite, he says. By objectifying 
his experiences he detaches himself from them. 



DEATH 375 

Donne in his Triple Fool had tried this pallia- 
tive: 

" As th* earth's inward narrow crooked lanes 
Do purge sea-water's fretful salt away, 
I thought if I could draw my pains 

Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. 
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce. 
For he tames it that fetters it in verse." 

I have thought it well to gather into a brief final 
Group Herbert's poems which refer to approaching 
death. How unlike they are to the clever verses 
written at Cambridge on the same subject ! All the 
poems of this Group have in them the note of real- 
ity, whether hke The Forerunners and Life 
they mourn the cessation of his verse, hke Grief 
and Home utter an anguished cry, like The 
Glance and The Dawning turn to the sweet 
originall joy of God's love, or like Vertue, Time, 
and A Dialogue-Antheme, sport with the im- 
potence of death. In all of them there is veritable 
experience carried up into well-ordered beauty. 
The methods of Herbert's Life did not forsake 
him in the leaving of it. 



376 XI. DEATH 



THE FORERUNNERS 

The harbingers are come. See, see their mark! 

White is their colour, and behold my head! 
But must they have my brain ? Must they dispark 
Those sparkling notions which therein were 
bred ? 
Must dulnesse turn me to a clod ? 5 

Yet have they left me. Thou art still my God. 

Good men ye be to leave me my best room, 
Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there. 

I passe not, I, what of the rest become, 

So Thou art still my God be out of fear. 10 
He will be pleased with that dittie; 

And if I please him, I write fine and wittie. 

Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. 

But will ye leave me thus ? When ye before 
Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores, 15 

Then did I wash you with my tears, and more, 
Brought you to Church well drest and clad. 
My God must have my best, ev'n all I had. 



XI. DEATH 377 



Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane, 

Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie ? 20 

Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane ? 
And wilt thou leave the Church and love a stie ? 
Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat, 

And hurt thy self and him that sings the note. 

Let foohsh lovers, if they will love dung, 25 

With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame. 

Let follie speak in her own native tongue. 

True beautie dwells on high. Ours is a flame 
But borrow' d thence to light us thither. 29 

Beautie and beauteous words should go together. 

Yet if you go, I passe not. Take your way! 

For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye 
Perhaps with more embellishment can say. 

Go birds of spring ! Let winter have his fee ! 
Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore, 35 
So all within be livelier then before. 



378 XI. DEATH 



LIFE 

I MADE a posie while the day ran by. 
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie 

My life within this band. 
But time did becken to the flowers, and they 
By noon most cunningly did steal away 5 

And wither'd in my hand. 

My hand was next to them, and then my heart. 
I took, without more thinking, in good part 

Time's gentle admonition; 
Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, 10 
Making my minde to smell my fatall day. 

Yet sugring the suspicion. 

Farewell deare flowers ! Sweetly your time ye spent, 
Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament. 

And after death for cures. 15 

I follow straight without complaints or grief, 
Since if my scent be good, I care not if 

It be as short as yours. 



XI. DEATH 379 



GRIEF 

O WHO will give me tears ? Come all ye springs, 

Dwell in my head and eyes. Come clouds, and 
rain. 
My grief hath need of all the watry things 

That nature hath produc'd. Let ev'ry vein 
Suck up a river to supply mine eyes, 5 

My weary weeping eyes, too drie for me 
Unlesse they get new conduits, new supplies 

To bear them out, and with my state agree. 
What are two shallow foords, two little spouts 

Of a lesse world ? The greater is but small, 10 
A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts. 

Which want provision in the midst of all. 
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise 

For my rough sorrows. Cease, be dumbe and 
mute, 
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes, 15 

And keep your measures for some lover's lute. 
Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme. 
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time. 
Alas, my God! 



380 XI. DEATH 



HOME 

Come Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, 

While thou dost ever, ever stay. 
Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick. 
My spirit gaspeth night and day. 

O show thy self to me, 5 

Or take me up to thee! 

How canst thou stay, considering the pace 

The bloud did make which thou didst 
waste ? 
When I behold it trickling down thy face, 

I never saw thing make such haste. 10 

O show thy, &c. 

When man was lost, thy pitie lookt about 
To see what help in th* earth or skie. 

But there was none, at least no help without; 15 
The help did in thy bosome lie. 
O show thy, &c. 

There lay thy sonne. And must he leave that nest. 
That hive of sweetnesse, to remove 20 

Thraldome from those who would not at a feast 
Leave one poore apple for thy love ? 
O show thy, &c. 



XI. DEATH 381 

He did, he came. O my Redeemer deare, 25 

After all this canst thou be strange ? 

So many yeares baptiz'd, and not appeare ? 
As if thy love could fail or change ? 
O show thy, &c. 

Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay ? 31 

My God, what is this world to me, 

This world of wo ? Hence all ye clouds, away. 
Away! I must get up and see. 

O show thy, &c. 35 

What is this weary world, this meat and drink. 
That chains us by the teeth so fast ? 

What is this woman-kinde, which I can wink 

Into a blacknesse and distaste ? 40 

O show thy, &c. 

With one small sigh thou gav'st me th' other day 
I blasted all the joyes about me. 

And scouling on them as they pin'd away, 45 
Now come again, said I, and flout me. 
O show thy, &c. 

Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and 
brake. 
Which way so-e*re I look, I see. 50 

Some may dream merrily, but when they wake. 

They dresse themselves and come to thee. 
O show thy, &c. 



382 XI. DEATH 



We talk of harvests ; there are no such things 55 
But when we leave our corn and hay. 

There is no fruitfull yeare but that which brings 
The last and lov'd, though dreadfuU day. 
O show thy, &c. 

Oh loose this frame, this knot of man untie! 

That my free soul may use her wing. 
Which now is pinion'd with mortalitie. 

As an intangled, hamper'd thing. 

O show thy, &c. 65 

What have I left that I should stay and grone ? 

The most of me to heav'n is fled. 
My thoughts and joyes are all packt up and gone. 

And for their old acquaintance plead. 70 
O show thy, &c. 

Come dearest Lord, passe not this holy season, 
My flesh and bones and joynts do pray. 
And ev'n my verse, when by the ryme and reason 
The word is. Stay, sayes ever. Cornel 76 
O show thy self to me. 
Or take me up to thee! 



XI. DEATH S83 



THE GLANCE 

When first thy sweet and gracious eye 
Voucbsaf d ev'n in the midst of youth and night 
To look upon me, who before did He 
Weltring in sinne, 
I felt a sugred strange delight, 5 

Passing all cordials made by any art, 
Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart, 
And take it in. 

Since that time many a bitter storm 
My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy, 10 

Had the mahcious and ill-meaning harm 
His swing and sway. 
But still thy sweet originall joy. 
Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul. 
And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll, 
And got the day. 16 

If thy first glance so powerfull be, 
A mirth but open'd and seal'd up again, 
What wonders shall we feel when we shall see 

Thy full-ey'd love! 20 

When thou shalt look us out of pain, 
And one aspect of thine spend in delight 
More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light. 
In heav'n above. 



XI. DEATH 



THE DAWNING 

Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns ! 

Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth. 
Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns. 

Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth. 

Awake, awake! 5 

And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. 

But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie. 

And feel his death, but not his victorie. 

Arise sad heart! If thou dost not withstand, 

Christ's resurrection thine may be, 10 

Do not by hanging down break from the hand 
Which as it riseth, raiseth thee. 
Arise, arise! 
And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes. 

Christ left his grave-clothes that we might, when 

grief 15 

Draws tears or bloud, not want an handkerchief. 



XI. DEATH 385 



VERTUE 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 

The bridall of the earth and skie; 
The dew shall weep thy fall to night, 
For thou must die. 

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave 5 

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; 
Thy root is ever in its grave, 

Aud thou must die. 

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses, 

A box where sweets compacted lie; 10 

My musick shows ye have your closes. 
And all must die. 

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul, 

Like season'd timber, never gives; 
But though the whole world turn to coal, 15 
Then chiefly hves. 



386 XI. DEATH 



TIME 

Meeting with Time, slack thing, said I, 
Thy sithe is dull, whet it for shame. 
No marvell, Sir, he did replie. 

If it at length deserve some blame. 4 

But where one man would have me grinde it, 
Twentie for one too sharp do finde it. 

Perhaps some such of old did passe, 

Who above all things lov'd this life; 
To whom thy sithe a hatchet was. 

Which now is but a pruning-knife. 10 

Christ's coming hath made man thy debter. 
Since by thy cutting he grows better. 



XI. DEATH 387 



And in his blessing thou art blest. 

For where thou onely wert before 
An executioner at best, 15 

Thou art a gard'ner now, and more — 
An usher to convey our souls 
Beyond the utmost starres and poles. 

And this is that makes life so long. 

While it detains us from our God. 20 
Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong, 
xAnd length of dayes lengthen the rod. 
Who wants the place where God doth dwell. 
Partakes already half of hell. 

Of what strange length must that needs be 

Wliich ev'n eternitie excludes! 26 

Thus farre Time heard me patiently. 

Then chafing said. This man deludes: 
What do I hear before his doore ? 
He doth not crave lesse time, but more. 30 



388 XI. DEATH 



A DIALOGUE-ANTHEME 

Christian. Death 

Chr. Alas, poore Death, where is thy glorie ? 

Where is thy famous force, thy ancient sting ? 
Dea. Alas poore mortally void of storie, 3 

Go spell and reade how I have kilVd thy King, 
Chr. Poore death ! And who was hurt thereby ? 

Thy curse being laid on him, makes thee accurst. 
Dea. Let losers talk I Yet thou shalt die ; 

These arms shall crush thee. Chr. Spare not, do 
thy worst. 

I shall be one day better then before; 

Thou so much worse that thou shalt be no 
more. 10 



XII 
ADDITIONAL AND DOUBTFUL POEMS 



PREFACE 

BESIDES the poems composing The Temple, 
Herbert wrote other verse. That there was a 
considerable body of this, and that it was of a secu- 
lar sort, has often been asserted. But the assertion 
rests on no evidence, and in my larger work I have 
shown that it is inherently improbable. There are, 
however, a few additional poems which evidence of 
varying degrees of worth connects with Herbert's 
name, and these I gather into a final Group. 

A few of those printed in my large edition I here 
reject. As shown there it is improbable that Her- 
bert ever saw the lines to the Queen of Bohemia, 
or those to Lord Danvers and Sir John Danvers. 
Some of the Psalms there printed he may have 
written; but if so, they were justly rejected as 
unworthy to stand beside his beautiful rendering 
of The Twenty-Third Psalm. The Paradox 
has his name written upon it by an unknown 
copyist, and Nahum Tate^ thought The Convert 
his. But none of these can be traced directly to 
his hand. 

The case is different with The Holy Commu- 
nion, Love, Trinitie-Sunday, Even-Song, The 
Knell, and Perseverance. These appear in the 
Williams Manuscript, intermingled with its other 



S92 PREFACE TO 

poems. That manuscript, containing nearly half of 
the poems subsequently published in The Tem- 
ple, certainly originated in Herbert's study. Its 
general handwriting is that of a copyist; but its 
many corrections and its large body of Latin poems 
are in Herbert's hand. We must therefore accept 
these poems as his, or else suppose that, though 
composed by some one else, he had them copied as 
favorites into a book of his own verse. But their 
inferiority of style is quite as grave an objection to 
this supposition as to his own authorship. They 
must then be classed among his refuse work. In 
the years that intervened between the composition 
of the Wilhams Manuscript and his death his taste 
had ripened. Having already written other poems 
on The Holy Communion, Love, and Trinitie- 
SuNDAY, he rejected these, wrote later a substitute 
for the EvEN-SoNG, and struck out The Knell 
and Perseverance altogether. While these poems 
in themselves are youthful and of small aesthetic 
value, they are of importance as showing that Her- 
bert did not preserve all his verse, but finally left 
for the printer only such as his critical taste ap- 
proved. 

Only one of the poems in this Group was so 
approved. The Church Militant. It is one of 
his four long and labored poems, and may have 
been designed as a kind of counterpart to The 
Church-Porch. Ferrar printed it as an appendix 
or third part of The Temple. The name, The 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 393 

Temple, does not appear in the Williams Manu- 
script, which has no title-page. The running-title 
at the head of the pages is The Church. This 
is also the running-title of the central portion of the 
book as finally printed. Perhaps, then, Herbert's 
plan — or Ferrar's — was to call the total work 
The Temple, and to let it consist of three parts : 
the main structure, conceived as The Church 
itself, with two adjuncts, — The Church-Porch, 
and The Church Militant. Yet the first two 
divisions are related so much more closely to each 
other than is either to the third that The Church 
Militant may probably better be regarded as an 
altogether detached piece. Between The Church- 
Porch and The Church the lines of Superlimi- 
NARE are inserted as a connecting fink, while at 
the close of The Church stands the word FINIS 
and a Gloria. There seems, therefore, to be an 
intended detachment of The Church Militant 
from the whole framework of The Temple. The 
Envoy after The Church Militant must mark 
the close of this poem, and not of the entire book. 
To preserve this detachment, I adopt the tradi- 
tional arrangement and place The Church Mili- 
tant after the other authenticated poems. But it 
might well stand before them. To make plain the 
course of Herbert's development we should place it 
just after the Sonnets to his Mother. I, at least, 
have no doubt that it is his earliest considerable 
piece. Its style is more influenced by Donne than 



394 PREFACE TO 

is that of any of his other poems except the two 
Sonnets of 1610. There is an indication, too, of 
youth in the fact that wliile no half-page of The 
Church Militant shows sustained ease and mas- 
tery, one comes upon single lines of exceptional 
depth and promise, e. g. : 

Doing nought 
Which doth not meet with an etemall thought. 

The sunne, though forward be his flight. 
Listens hehinde him and allows some light 
Till all depart. 

How low is he, 
If God and man be severed infinitely ! 

Setting affliction to encounter pleasure. 

In vice the copie still exceeds 
The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds. 

Bits of poetry like these, shining among lines 
which are too often declamatory, forced, and ob- 
scure, declare the age and promise of their author. 
Nor is objective evidence of an early date lacking. 
In line 242 the Thames is said to be in danger 
of pollution through mingling its stream with the 
Seine. Herbert was too good a courtier to have 
written so after 1624, when Prince Charles was be- 
trothed to Henrietta Maria, the French Princess. 
The allusion, too, to America as the land of gold 
(1. 250) would be more natural at the time when 
the Virginia Trading Company was in full activity 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 395 

and hope than in the years after its dissolution in 
1623. 

But although The Church Militant is early, 
immature, and difficult in style, in its subject and 
method of treatment it is of marked originality ; for 
it is, so far as I can discover, the first sketch of gen- 
eral Church history in our language. Single periods 
of that history had been already treated, as by 
Bede in his account of the English Church. Lives 
of the Saints had been written, and studies of 
Christian Antiquity. Of controversial works, like 
Bishop Jewel's Apology, there was no lack. But 
hitherto no Englishman had attempted to survey 
the progress of the Church as it came forth from 
little Judaea and mightily overran all the lands of 
the West. This dramatic theme Herbert seized, 
treated it in bold outhne, and made of his poem 
a veritable landmark in English ecclesiastical his- 
tory. In this, as in religious poetry, he is the pioneer 
of a large company. But he could not bring his ex- 
periments in this field so near perfection as he did 
in that of the religious love-lyric. There he needed 
only to explore his own soul, while for even a good 
outline of Church history a solid body of scholar- 
ship was necessary ; and this at that time was inac- 
cessible. Herbert's account is accordingly, like all 
early history, inaccurate, partisan, and often cred- 
ulous. It is an astonishing evidence of the inde- 
pendence of his mind that it was written at all, and 
in all probability written before he was thirty years 



396 PREFACE TO 

of age. That this priority of Herbert in Church his- 
tory has not been remarked shows how superficial 
has been the attention bestowed on his widely 
circulated little book. 

Original, however, as Herbert is in the choice of 
a historical subject, he is no less original in his 
treatment of it. Most historians of the Church con- 
ceive it as an ecclesiastical organization, whose con- 
struction and vicissitudes they explore, the devel- 
opment of whose power and ritual they trace, and 
whose scheme of doctrine they Vindicate. The ene- 
mies of the Church are accordingly unbelievers, 
persecuting sovereigns, or nations which refuse to 
accept its sway. 

With the progress of the Church in this sense 
Herbert is in no way concerned. What interests 
him is the coming of righteousness on earth. The 
contests of the Church are not with those who 
question priestly authority. He never alludes to 
heretics, or creeds, or forms of worship; and when 
he mentions splendid outward organizations and 
the consolidation of ecclesiastical power, it is as a 
sign of danger, if not of decay. He is, in short, true 
to that conception of the Church continually an- 
nounced in liis poems, notably in Sion, the con- 
ception which gave a name to his volume, and which 
I have abundantly discussed in sections of my 
large edition. He means by the Church the loving, 
temptable, aspiring, and ill-harmonized soul of 
man. It is no external institution. All its frame 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 397 

and fabrick is within. The Church history which 
he would write is a description of the way in 
which the new mode of affectionate holiness re- 
vealed by Jesus Christ has been intermittently 
adopted and rejected by the nations of Europe. 
His Church history is accordingly, like that of Jon- 
athan Edwards afterwards, a genuine History of 
Redemption. 

It would be an error to claim for Herbert entire 
originality in this ethical idea of Church history. 
The greatest of the Fathers had thought of it in 
somewhat the same w^ay. Augustine's City of God 
is a spiritual society of the righteous united by 
allegiance to a common divine Lord. It is true that, 
while Herbert is a man of piety, Augustine is also 
a statesman, with a range of vision, a complexity 
of interests, an acquaintance with men, and a phi- 
losophic grasp denied to Herbert. But all the niore 
striking on this account becomes Herbert's inde- 
pendence. He knew and honored Augustine. He 
bequeathed a set of his works to his Fuggleston 
curate, Mr. Bostock. Undoubtedly his thoughts 
about The Church Militant were initiated by 
Augustine. But he did not allow himself to be 
dominated. He took from the City of God only what 
harmonized with his own individualistic genius, 
and under the name of The Church Militant 
pictured the world's growth in personal holiness. 

The poem is divided into five parts, separated 
from one another by a refrain exalting the wisdom 



398 PREFACE TO 

of God. Part I describes the migration of Religion 
from its early home in the East to its settlement in 
Egypt; Part II, the advance of Religion through 
Greece to establish its empire in the West; Part 
III, the parallel advance of Sin ; Part IV, the 
conquest of Religion by Sin at Rome ; Part V, the 
ineffective attempts through reformation to set 
Religion free from Sin, and the probabihty of far- 
ther struggle in future as the two move together 
through America westward. 

In my fifth Essay is related the curious refusal 
of the Vice-Chancellor to Ucense Herbert's book on 
account of fines 235 and 236 of The Church 
Militant : 

Religion stands on tip-toe in our land^ 
Readie to passe to the American strand. 

This passage, as also fine 247, might suggest that 
Herbert was thinking of the Puritan migration, the 
only colonization ever undertaken from England 
with religious aims. Such thoughts are natural for 
us in looking back, but not for him when looking 
forward. Even if the dates allowed, we cannot sup- 
pose that he would have sympathized with com- 
panies of obscure and wilful sectaries. That was 
not his disposition. The Pilgrims, however, did not 
sail till 1620; the Puritans not till 1628. This lat- 
ter date was just about the time when the Williams 
Manuscript was probably drawn up, and in it was 
included The Church Militant. At the time 



ADDITIONAL POEMS 399 

when the poem was written the Puritan migration 
was a small affair, and had attracted little atten- 
tion. It is the Virginia Colony to which Herbert 
refers, that aristocratic colony with which his 
friend Ferrar was connected. What he has in mind 
is made clearer by a passage of The Country 
Parson, XXXII, in which he is planning work 
for younger sons : If the young Gallant think these 
Courses dull and phlegmatick, where can he busie 
himself better than in those new Plantations and dis- 
covery es which are not only a noble but also, as they 
may be handled, a religious imployment ? He sim- 
ply means that on fresh soil religion has fresh 
opportunities. No other reference to America in 
The Temple speaks of it as religious ground. 

From this Group of Additional Poems I have 
withdrawn three as having special importance 
elsewhere. The lines reported by Walton as in- 
scribed in the Bemerton Parsonage I have placed 
at the beginning of Group VIII. The Sonnets of 
1610 mark the rise of that Resolve which is set 
forth with early ardor, assurance, and comprehen= 
siveness in the poems of Group II. 



400 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



THE CHURCH MILITANT 

Almightie Lord, who from thy glorious throne 
Seest and rulest all things ev*n as one* 
The smallest ant or atome knows thy power. 
Known also to each minute of an houre. 4 

Much more do Common-weals acknowledge thee 
And wrap their policies in thy decree. 
Complying with thy counsels, doing nought 
Which doth not meet with an eternall thought. 
But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove 
Not the decrees of power, but bands of love. 10 
Early didst thou arise to plant this vine. 
Which might the more indeare it to be thine. 
Spices come from the East; so did thy Spouse, 
Trimme as the light, sweet as the laden boughs 
Of Noah's shadie vine, chaste as the dove, 15 
Prepared and fitted to receive thy love. 
The course was westward, that the sunne might 

light 
As well our understanding as our sight. 
Where th* Ark did rest, there Abraham began 
To bring the other Ark from Canaan. 20 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 401 

Moses pursu'd this, but King Solomon 
Finish'd and fixt the old rehgion. 
When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain 
By nailing Christ to fasten it again; 
But to the Gentiles he bore crosse and all, 25 
Rending with earthquakes the partition-wall. 
Onely whereas the iVrk in glorie shone. 
Now with the crosse, as with a staff e, alone, 
Religion, like a pilgrime, westward bent, 
Knocking at all doores ever as she went. 30 

Yet as the sunne, though forward be his flight, 
Listens behinde him and allows some light 
Till all depart; so went the Church her way. 
Letting, while one foot stept, the other stay 
Among the eastern nations for a time, 35 

Till both removed to the western clime. 
To Egypt first she came, where they did prove 
Wonders of anger once, but now of love. 
The ten Commandments there did flourish more 
Then the ten bitter plagues had done before. 40 
Holy Macarius and great Anthonie 
Made Pharaoh Moses, changing th' historic. 
Goshen was darknesse, Egypt full of lights, 
Nilus for monsters brought forth Israelites. 44 
Such power hath mightie Baptisme to produce 
For things misshapen, things of highest use. 
How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 
Who may with thee compare ? 



402 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Religion thence fled into Greece, where arts 

Gave her the highest place in all men's hearts. 50 

Learning was pos'd, Philosophic was set, 

Sophisters taken in a fisher's net. 

Plato and Aristotle were at a losse 

And wheel'd about again to spell Christ-Crosse. 

Prayers chas'd syllogismes into their den, 55 

And Ergo was transform'd into Amen. 

Though Greece took horse as soon as Egypt did. 

And Rome as both, yet Egypt faster rid. 

And spent her period and prefixed time 59 

Before the other. Greece being past her prime, 

Religion went to Rome, subduing those 

Who, that they might subdue, made all their foes. 

The Warrier his deere skarres no more resounds. 

But seems to yeeld Christ hath the greater wounds. 

Wounds willingly endur'd to work his blisse 65 

Who by an ambush lost his Paradise. 

The great heart stoops and taketh from the dust 

A sad repentance, not the spoils of lust. 

Quitting his spear, lest it should pierce again 

Him in his members who for him was slain. 70 

The Shepherd's hook grew to a scepter here. 

Giving new names and numbers to the yeare. 

But th' Empire dwelt in Greece, to comfort them 

Who were cut short in Alexander's stemme. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 403 



In both of these Prowesse and Arts did tame 75 
And tune men's hearts against the Gospel came; 
Which using, and not fearing skill in th' one, 
Or strength in th' other, did erect her throne. 
Many a rent and struggling th' Empire knew, 
(As dying things are wont) untill it flew 80 

At length to Germanie, still westward bending, 
And there the Churches festivall attending; 
That as before Empire and Arts made way, 
(For no lesse Harbingers would serve then they) 
So they might still, and point us out the place 
Where first the Church should raise her downcast 
face. 86 

Strength levels grounds, xArt makes a garden there. 
Then showres Religion and makes all to bear. 
Spain in the Empire shar'd with Germanie, 
But England in the higher victorie; 90 

Giving the Church a crown to keep her state 
And not go lesse then she had done of late. 
Constantine's British line meant this of old. 
And did this mysterie wrap up and fold 
Within a sheet of paper, which was rent 95 

From time's great Chronicle and hither sent. 
Thus both the Church and Sunne together ran 
Unto the farthest old meridian. 
How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 

Who may with thee compare ? 100 



404 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 

Much about one and the same time and place 
Both where and when the Church began her race, 
Sinne did set out of Eastern Babylon 
And travell'd westward also. Journeying on 
He chid the Church away where e're he came, 105 
Breaking her peace and tainting her good name. 
At first he got to Egypt and did sow 
Gardens of gods, which ev'ry yeare did grow 
Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost 
Who for a god clearely a sallet lost. 110 

Ah, what a thing is man devoid of grace, 
Adoring garlick with an humble face. 
Begging his food of that which he may eat. 
Starving the while he worshippeth his meat! 
Who makes a root his god, how low is he, 115 
If God and man be sever'd infinitely! 
What wretchednesse can give him any room 
Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom.'' 
None will beleeve this now, though money be 
In us the same transplanted foolerie. 120 

Thus Sinne in Egypt sneaked for a while; 
His highest was an ox or crocodile 
And such poore game. Thence he to Greece doth 

passe ; 
And being craftier much then Goodnesse was. 
He left behinde him garrisons of sinnes 125 

To make good that which ev'ry day he winnes. 
Here Sinne took heart, and for a garden-bed 
Rich shrines and oracles he purchased. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 405 

He grew a gallant and would needs foretell 
As v/ell what should befall as what befell. 130 
Nay, he became a poet, and would serve 
His pills of sublimate in that conserve. 
The world came both with hands and purses full 
To this great lotterie, and all would pull. 
But all was glorious cheating, brave deceit, 135 
Where some poore truths were shuffled for a bait 
To credit him, and to discredit those 
Who after him should braver truths disclose. 
From Greece he went to Rome; and as before 
He was a God, now he's an Emperour. 140 

Nero and others lodg'd him bravely there, 
Put him in trust to rule the Romane sphere. 
Glorie was his chief instrument of old, 
Pleasure succeeded straight when that grew cold. 
WTiich soon was blown to such a mightie flame 145 
That though our Saviour did destroy the game, 
Disparking oracles and all their treasure. 
Setting affliction to encounter pleasure. 
Yet did a rogue with hope of carnall joy 
Cheat the most subtill nations. Who so coy, 150 
So trimme, as Greece and Egypt ? Yet their hearts 
Are given over, for their curious arts, 
To such Mahometan stupidities 
As the old heathen would deem prodigies. 
How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are ! 155 
Who may with thee compare ? 



406 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



Onely the West and Rome do keep them free 

From this contagious infidehtie. 

And this is all the Rock whereof they boast, 

As Rome will one day finde unto her cost. 160 

Sinne being not able to extirpate quite 

The Churches here, bravely resolv'd one night 

To be a Church-man too and wear a Mitre; 

The old debauched ruffian would turn writer. 

I saw him in his studie, where he sate 165 

Busie in controversies sprung of late. 

A gown and pen became him wondrous well. 

His grave aspect had more of heav'n then hell: 

Onely there was a handsome picture by, 

To which he lent a corner of his eye. 170 

As Sinne in Greece a Prophet was before. 

And in old Rome a mightie Emperour, 

So now being Priest he plainly did professe 

To make a jest of Christ's three offices; 

The rather since his scatter'd jugglings were 175 

United now in one, both time and sphere. 

From Egypt he took pettie deities, 

From Greece oracular infallibilities, 

And from old Rome the libertie of pleasure 

By free dispensings of the Churches treasure. 180 

Then in memoriall of his ancient throne 

He did surname his palace, Babylon. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 407 

Yet that he might the better gain all nations, 
And make that name good by their transmigra- 
tions 
From all these places, but at divers times, 185 
He took fine vizards to conceal his crimes. 
From Egypt Anchorisme and retirednesse. 
Learning from Greece, from old Rome statelinesse ; 
And blending these he carri'd all men's eyes, 
While Truth sat by counting his victories. 190 
Whereby he grew apace and scorn' d to use 
Such force as once did captivate the Jews, 
But did bewitch and finely work each nation 
Into a voluntarie transmigration. 
All poste to Rome. Princes submit their necks 
Either t' his publick foot or private tricks. 196 
It did not fit his gravitie to stirre. 
Nor his long journey, nor his gout and furre. 
Therefore he sent out able ministers. 
Statesmen within, without doores cloisterers, 200 
AVho without spear, or sword, or other drumme 
Then what was in their tongue, did overcome; 
And having conquer'd, did so strangely rule. 
That the whole world did seem but the Pope's 

mule. 
As new and old Rome did one Empire twist, 205 
So both together are one Antichrist, 
Yet with two faces, as their Janus was. 
Being in this their old crackt looking-glasse. 
How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are ! 

Who may with thee compare ? 210 



408 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



Thus Sinne triumphs in Western Babylon, 

Yet not as Sinne, but as Rehgion. 

Of his two thrones he made the latter best, 

And to defray his journey from the east. 

Old and new Babylon are to hell and night 215 

As is the moon and sunne to heav'n and light. 

When th' one did set, the other did take place, 

Confronting equally the law and grace. 

They are hell's land-marlvs, Satan's double crest. 

They are Sinne's nipples, feeding th' east and west. 

But as in vice the copie still exceeds 221 

The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds; 

So though Sinne made his latter seat the better, 

The latter Church is to the first a debter. 

The second Temple could not reach the first. 

And the late reformation never durst 226 

Compare with ancient times and purer yeares. 

But in the Jews and us deserveth tears. 

Nay, it shall ev'ry yeare decrease and fade. 

Till such a darknesse do the world invade 230 

At Christ's last coming as his first did finde. 

Yet must there such proportions be assign 'd 

To these diminishings as is between 

The spacious world and Jurie to be seen. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 409 



Religion stands on tip-toe in our land, 235 

Readie to passe to the American strand. 
When height of malice and prodigious lusts, 
Impudent sinning, witchcrafts, and distrusts 
(The marks of future bane) shall fill our cup 
Unto the brimme and make our measure up; 
When Sei7i shall swallow Tiber, and the Thames 
By letting in them both pollutes her streams. 
When Italie of us shall have her will, 243 

And all her calender of sinnes fulfill ; 
Whereby one may fortell what sinnes next yeare 
Shall both in France and England domineer; 
Then shall Religion to America flee. 
They have their times of Gospel ev'n as we. 
]\Iy God, thou dost prepare for them a way 
By carrying first their gold from them away; 250 
For gold and grace did never yet agree. 
Religion alwaies sides with povertie. 
We think we rob them, but we think amisse; 
W^e are more poore, and they more rich by this. 
Thou wilt revenge their quarrell, making grace 
To pay our debts, and leave our ancient place 
To go to them, while that which now their nation 
But lends to us shall be our desolation. 



410 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



Yet as the Church shall thither westward flie, 
So Sinne shall trace and dog her instantly. 260 
They have their period also and set times 
Both for their vertuous actions and their crimes. 
And where of old the Empire and the Arts 
Usher'd the Gospel ever in men's hearts, 
Spain hath done one ; when Arts perform the 

other, 265 

The Church shall come, and Sinne the Church 

shall smother. 
That when they haue accomplished the round, 
And met in th' east their first and ancient sound. 
Judgement may meet them both and search them 

round. 269 

Thus do both lights, as well in Church as Sunne, 
Light one another and together runne. 
Thus also Sinne and Darknesse follow still 
The Church and Sunne with all their power and 

skill. 
But as the Sunne still goes both west and east. 
So also did the Church by going west 275 

Still eastward go; because it drew more neare 
To time and place where judgement shall appeare. 
How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are I 
Who may with thee compare 9 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 411 



L'ENVOY 

King of glorie. King of peace, 

With the one make warre to cease; 

With the other blesse thy sheep, 

Thee to love, in thee to sleep. 

Let not Sinne devoure thy fold, 5 

Bragging that thy bloud is cold, 

That thy death is also dead. 

While his conquests dayly spread; 

That thy flesh hath lost his food, 

And thy Crosse is common wood. 10 

Choke him, let him say no more, 

But reserve his breath in store. 

Till thy conquests and his fall 

Make his sighs to use it all, 

And then bargain with the winde 15 

To discharge what is behinde. 

Blessed he God alone. 
Thrice blessed Three in One. 



FINIS 



412 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



THE HOLY COMMUNION 

O GRATious Lord, how shall I know 
Whether in these gifts thou bee so 

As thou art everywhere? 
Or rather so as thou alone 
Tak'st all the Lodging, leaving none 5 

For thy poore creature there. 

First I am sure, whether Bread stay. 
Or whether Bread doe fly away, 

Concerneth Bread, not mee; 
But that both thou and all thy traine 10 

Bee there, to thy truth and my gaine, 

Concerneth mee and Thee. 

And if in comming to thy foes 

Thou dost come first to them, that showes 

The hast of thy good will. 15 

Or if that thou two stations makest. 
In Bread and mee, the way thou takest 

Is more, but for mee still. 

Then of this also I am siire, 

That thou didst all those pains endure 20 

To abolish Sinn, not Wheat. 
Creatures are good and have their place. 
Sinn onely, which did all deface. 

Thou drivest from his seat. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 413 



I could beleeve an Impanation 25 

At the rate of an Incarnation, 

If thou hadst dyde for Bread. 
But that which made my soule to dye. 
My flesh and fleshly villany, 

That allso made thee dead. 30 

That Flesh is there mine eyes deny. 
And what should flesh but flesh discry, 

The noblest sence of five ? 
If glorious bodies pass the sight, 34 

Shall they be food and strength and might. 

Even there where they deceive ? 

Into my soule tliis cannot pass. 

Flesh (though exalted) keeps his grass, 

And cannot turn to soule. 
Bodyes and Minds are different spheres, 40 
Nor can they change their bounds and meres. 

But keep a constant pole. 

This gift of all gifts is the best. 
Thy flesh the least that I request. 

Thou took'st that pledge from mee. 45 
Give mee not that I had before, 
Or give mee that so I have more. 

My God, give mee all Thee. 



414 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



LOVE 

Thou art too hard for me in Love. 
There is no deahng wth thee in that Art. 
That is thy Masterpeece, I see. 
When I contrive and plott to prove 
Something that may be conquest on my part, 5 
Thou still, O Lord, outstrippest mee. 

Sometimes, whenas I wash, I say, 
And shrodely as I think. Lord wash my soule. 
More spotted then my flesh can bee. 
But then there comes into my way 10 

Thy ancient baptism, which when I was foule 
And knew it not, yet cleansed mee. 

I took a time when thou didst sleep, 
Great waves of trouble combating my brest; 
I thought it brave to praise thee then. 15 
Yet then I found that thou didst creep 
Into my hart wth ioye, giving more rest 
Then flesh did lend thee back agen. 

Let mee but once the conquest have 
Vpon the matter, 'twill thy conquest prove. 20 
If Thou subdue mortalitie. 
Thou dost no more then doth the grave. 
Whereas if I orecome thee and thy Love, 

Hell, Death, and Divel come short of mee. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 415 



TRINITIE-SUNDAY 

He that is one 

Is none. 

Two reacheth thee 
In some degree. 

Nature and Grace 5 

With Glory may attaine thy Face. 
Steele and a flint strike fire. 
Witt and desire 
Never to thee aspire 
Except life catch and hold those fast. 10 

That which beleefe 
Did not confess in the first Theefe 

His fall can tell 
From Heaven through Earth to Hell. 
Lett two of those alone 15 

To them that fall, 
Who God and Saints and Angels loose at last. 
Hee that has one 
Has all. 



416 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 

EVEN-SONG 

The Day is spent, and hath his will on mee. 

I and the Sunn have runn our races. 

I went the slower, yet more paces; 
For I decay, not hee. 

Lord, make my Losses up, and sett mee free; 
That I, who cannot now by day 6 

Look on his daring brightnes, may 

Shine then more bright then hee. 

If thou deferr this Hght, then shadow mee; 

Least that the Night, earth's gloomy shade. 
Fouling her nest, my earth invade, 11 

As if shades knew not thee. 

But thou art light and darknes both togeather. 
If that bee dark we cannot see. 
The sunn is darker than a tree, 15 

And thou more dark then either. 

Yet thou art not so dark since I know this 
But that my darknes may touch thine, 
And hope, that may teach it to shine, 

Since Light thy Darknes is. 20 

O lett my soule, whose keyes I must deliver 
Into the hands of senceles Dreams 
Which know not thee, suck in thy beams 

And wake with thee for ever. 



XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 417 



THE KNELL 

The Bell doth tolle. 
Lord, help thy servant whose perplexed soule 

Doth wishly look 

On either hand, 
And sometimes offers, sometimes makes a stand, 

Struggling on th' hook. 6 

Now is the season. 
Now the great combat of our flesh and reason. 

O help, my God! 

See, they breake in, 10 

Disbanded humours, sorrows, troops of Sinn, 

Each with his rodd. 

Lord make thy blood 
Convert and colour all the other flood 

And streams of grief, 15 

That they may bee 
Julips and Cordials when wee call on thee 

For some relief. 



418 XII. ADDITIONAL POEMS 



PERSEVERANCE 

My God the poore expressions of my Love, 
Which warme these Hnes and serve them up to 
thee 
Are so as for the present I did move, 
Or rather as thou movedst mee. 

But what shall issue, — whether these my words 5 

Shall help another but my iudgment bee. 
As a burst fouling-peece doth save the birds 
But kill the man, — is seal'd with thee. 

For who can tell though thou hast dyde to winn 
And wedd my soule in glorious paradise, 10 
Whether my many crymes and use of sinn 
May yet forbid the banns and bliss ? 

Onely my soule hangs on thy promisses, 

Wth face and hands clinging unto thy brest; 

CHnging and crying, crying without cease, 15 

Thou art my rocky thou art my rest. 



INDEXES 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Aaron, 218. 

Affliction, 128, 180, 350, 351, 

352. 
Agonie, 287. 

To All Angels and Saints, 88. 
The Altar, 67. 
Anagram, 293. 
The Answer, 185. 
Antiphon, 57, 242. 
Artillerie, 190. 
Assurance, 325. 
Avarice, 268. 

The Bag, 289. 

The Banquet, 237. 

H. Baptisme, 101, 102. 

Bitter-Sweet, 34-1. 

The British Church, 262. 

The Bunch of Grapes, 320. 

Businesse, 281. 

The Call, 217. 
Charms and Knots, 113. 
Christmas, 90. 
Church-FIoore, 294. 
Church-Lock and Kev, 156. 
The Church Militant^ 400. 
Church-Monuments, 106. 
Church-Musick, 105. 
The Church-Porch, 10. 
Church-Rents and Schismes, 

264. 
Clasping of Hands, 229. 
The Collar. 318. 
H. Communion, 103, 412. 
Complaining, 349, 
Confession, 345. 
Conscience, 327. 
Constancie, 271. 
Content, 186. 
The Crosse, 328. 

The Dawning, 384. 



Death, 135. 
Decay, 269. 
Dedication, xv. 
Deniall, 154. 
Dialogue, 194. 
A Dialogue- Antheme, 388. 
The Discharge, 307. 
Discipline, 364. 
Divinitie, 260. 
Dooms-Day, 137. 
Dotage, 280. 
Dulnesse, 316. 

Easter, 83. 
Easter Wings, 178. 
The Elixer, 53. 
Employment, 55, 184. 
L'Envoy, 411. 
Even-Song, 240, 416, 

Faith, 121. 

The Fami!ie, 306. 

The Flower, 368. 

The Foil, 273. 

The Forerunners, 376. ' 

Frailtie, 189. 

Giddinesse, 276. 
The Glance, 383. 
The Glimpse, 360. 
Good Friday, 81. 
Grace, 161. 
Gratefulnesse, 231. 
Grief, 379. 

Grieve not the Holy Spirit, 
&c., 343. 

Heaven, 140. 
The Holdfast, 221. 
Home, 380. 
Hope, 314. 
Humilitie, 124. 
A True Hymne, 225. 



422 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Inscription, 250. 
The Invitation, 235. 

Jesu, 367. 
The Jews, 266. 
Jordan, 49, 50. 
Joseph's Coat, 366. 
Judgement, 139. 
Justice, 270, 342. 

The Knell, 417. 

Lent, 92. 
Life, 378. 
Longing, 356. 
Love, 47, 210, 414. 
Love-Joy, 292. 
Love Unknown, 333. 

Man, 115. 

Man's Medley, 274. 

Marie Magdalene, 286. 

Mattens, 148. 

The Method, 312. 

Miserie, 129. 

Mortification, 133. 

Nature, 157. 

Obedience, 202. 

The Odour, 223. 

An Offering, 206. 

Our Life is Hid, &c., 147. 

Paradise, 230. 
A Parodie, 362. 
Peace, 198. 
The Pearl, 200. 
Perseverance, 418. 
The Pilgrimage, 330. 
The Posie, 226. 
Praise, 51, 208, 233. 
Prayer, 97, 98. 
The Priesthood, 196j 
Providence, 251. 
The 23 Psalme, 222. 
The Pulley, 285. 



The Quidditie, 52. 
The Quip, 227. 

Redemption, 123. 
Repentance, 158. 
The Reprisall, 152. 
The Rose, 204. 

The Sacrifice, 68. 
Saints, vide Angels. 
Schismes, vide Church- 
Rents. 
H. Scriptures, 99. 
The Search, 322. 
Self-Condemnation, 267. 
Sepulchre, 288. 
Sighs and Grones, 354. 
Sinne, 119, 120. 
The Sinner, 153. 
Sinnes Round, 283. 
Sion, 348. 
The Size, 310. 
The Sonne, 291. 
Sonnets to his Mother, 45. 
The Starre, 192. 
The Storm, 347. 
Submission, 315. 
Sunday, 94. 
Superliminare, 66. 

The Temper, 162, 163. 
The Thanksgiving, 149. 
Time, 386. 
Trinitie-Sunday, 87, 415. 

Ungratefulnesse, 126. 
Unkindnesse, 160. 

Vanitie, 188, 278. 
Vertue, 385. 

The Water-Course, 284. 
Whitsunday, 85. 
The Windows, 220. 
The World, 118. 
A Wreath, 165. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



A broken Altar, Lord, thy servant reares, 67. 

Ah my deare angrie Lord, 341. 

Alas, poore Death, where is thy glorie.? 388. 

All after pleasures as I rid one day, 90. 

Almightie Judge, how shall poore wretches brook, 139. 

Almightie Lord, who from thy glorious throne, 400. 

And art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove, 343. 

As he that sees a dark and shadie grove, 101. 

As I one ev'ning sat before my cell, 190. 

As men, for fear the starres should sleep and nod, 260. 

As on a window late I cast mine eye, 292. 

Awake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns! 384. 

Away despair! My gracious Lord doth heare, 289. 

A wreathed garland of deserved praise, 165. 

Blest be the God of love, 240. 

Blest Order, which in power dost so excell, 196. 

Brave rose, (alas!) where art thou.'' In the chair, 264. 

Bright spark, shot from a brighter place, 192. 

Broken in pieces all asunder, 352. 

Busie enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know? 307. 

But that Thou art my wisdome. Lord, 315. 

Canst be idle. f* Canst thou play, 281. 

Come away, 137. 

Come, bring thy gift. If blessings were as slow, 206. 

Come Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick, 380. 

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life, 217. 

Come ye hither all whose taste, 235. 

Content thee, greedie heart, 310. 

Deare Friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad, 303. 
Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, 135. 
Do not beguile my heart, 349. 

False glozing pleasures, casks of happinesse, 280. 
Full of rebellion, I would die, 157. 

Having been tenant long to a rich Lord, 123. 
Heark, how the birds do sing, 274. 
He that is one, 415. 



424 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

He that is weary, let him sit, 55. 

HoUnesse on the head, 218. 

How are my foes increased, Lord! 410. 

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean, 368. 

How should I praise thee. Lord! How should my rymes, 

163. 
How soon doth man decay! 133. 

How sweetly doth My Master sound! My Master, 223. 
How well her name an army doth present, 293. 

I blesse thee, Lord, because I grow, 230. 

I cannot ope mine eyes, 148. 

I cannot skill of these thy wayes, 342. 

If as a flowre doth spread and die, 184. 

If as the windes and waters here below, 347. 

If thou chance for to find, 250. 

If we could see below, 273. 

I gave to Hope a watch of mine; but he, 314. 

I have consider 'd it, and finde, 152. 

1 joy, deare Mother, when I view, 262. 

I know it is my sinne which locks thine eares, 156. 

I know the wayes of learning, both the head, 200. 

I made a posie while the day ran by, 378. 

Immortall Heat, O let thy greater flame, 48. 

Immortall Love, authour of this great frame, 47. 

I saw the Vertues sitting hand in hand, 124. 

1 struck the board, and cry'd, No more, 318. 

It cannot be. Where is that mightie joy, 162. 

I threatned to observe the strict decree, 221. 

I travell'd on, seeing the hill where lay, 330. 

Jesu is in my heart, his sacred name, 367. 

Joy, I did lock thee up, but some bad man, 320, 

Kill me not ev'ry day, 350. 

King of Glorie, King of Peace, 208. 

King of glorie. King of peace, 411. 

Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing, 242. 

Let forrain nations of their language boast, 291. 

Let wits contest, 226. 

Listen, sweet Dove, unto my song, 85. 

Lord, how can man preach thy eternall word.? 220. 

Lord, how couldst thou so much appease, 121. 

Lord, how I am all ague when I seek, 153. 

Lord, I confesse my sinne is great, 158. 

Lord, in my silence how do I despise, 189. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 425 

Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise, 233. 
Lord, let the Angels praise thy name, 129. 
Lord, make me coy and tender to offend, 160. 
Lord, my first fruits present themselves to thee, xv. 
Lord, thou art mine, and I am thine, 229. 
Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, 178. 
Lord, who hast form'd me out of mud, 87. 
Lord, with what bountie and rare clemencie, 126. 
Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round! 120. 
Lord, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old, 348. 
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, 210. 
Love built a stately house; where Fortune came, 118. 

Mark you the floore.'' That square and speckled stone, 294. 

Meeting with Time, slack thing, said I, 386. 

Money, thou bane of blisse and sourse of wo, 268. 

My comforts drop and melt away like snow, 185. 

My God, a verse is not a crown, 52. 

My God, if writings may, 202. 

My God, I heard this day, 115. 

My God, I read this day, 128. 

My God the poore expressions of my Love, 418. 

My God, where is that antient heat towards thee, 45. 

My heart did heave, and there came forth, O God! 351. 

My joy, my life, my crown! 225. 

My stock lies dead, and no increase, 161. 

My words and thoughts do both expresse this notion, 147. 

Not in rich furniture or fine array, 103. 

O blessed bodie! Whither art thou thrown? 288. 

O day most calm, most bright, 94. 

O do not use me, 354. 

O dreadfull Justice, what a fright and terrour, 270. 

Of what an easie quick accesse, 98. 

O gratious Lord, how shall I know, 412. 

Oh all ye who passe by, whose eyes and minde, 68. 

Oh Book! Infinite sweetnesse ! Let my heart, 99. 

Oh glorious spirits, who after all your bands, 88. 

Oh King of grief! A title strange, yet true, 149. 

Oh that I knew how all thy lights combine, 100. 

Oh, what a thing is man ! How farre from power, 276. 

O my chief good, 81. 

O sacred Providence, who from end to end, 251. 

O spitefuU bitter thought! 325. 

O that I could a sinne once see! 119. 

O what a cunning guest, 345. 



426 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

O who will give me tears? Come all ye springs, 379. 
O who will show me those delights on high, 140. 

Peace mutt'ring thoughts, and do not grudge to keep, 186. 

Peace pratler, do not lowre! 327. 

Philosophers have measur'd mountains, 287. 

Poore heart, lament, 312. 

Poore nation, whose sweet sap and juice, 266. 

Poore silly soul, whose hope and head lies low, 188. 

Praised be the God of love, 57. 

Prayer the Churches banquet. Angel's age, 97. 

Presse me not to take more pleasure, 204. 

Rise, heart, thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise, 83. 

Since, Lord, to thee, 102. 

Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am, 283. 

Soul's joy, when thou art gone, 362. 

Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry, 46. 

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 385. 

Sweetest of sweets, I thank you! When displeasure, 105. 

Sweetest Saviour, if my soul, 194. 

Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell.'* I humbly crave, 198. 

Sweet were the dayes when thou didst lodge with Lot, 269. 

Teach me, my God and King, 53. 

The Bell doth toUe, 417. 

The Day is spent, and hath his will on mee, 416. 

The fleet Astronomer can bore, 278. 

The God of love my shepherd is, 222. 

The harbingers are come. See, see their mark! 376. 

The merrie world did on a day, 227. 

Thou art too hard for me in Love, 414. 

Thou that hast giv'n so much to me, 231. 

Thou who condemnest Jewish hate, 267. 

Thou who dost dwell and linger here below, 284. 

Thou, whom the former precepts have, 66, 

Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes inhance, 10. 

Throw away thy rod, 364. 

To write a verse or two is all the praise, 51. 

Welcome, deare feast of Lent! Who loves not thee, 92. 

Welcome sweet and sacred cheer, 237. 

What doth this noise of thoughts within my heart, 306. 

What is this strange and uncouth thing! 328. 

When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet, 286. 

When first my lines of heav'nly joyes made mention, 50. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 427 

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart, 180. 

When first thy sweet and gracious eye, 383. 

When God at first made man, 285. 

When my devotions could not pierce, 154. 

While that my soul repairs to her devotion, 106. 

Whither away delight.? 360. 

Whither, O, whither art thou fled, 322. 

Who is the honest man, 271. 

Who reade a chapter when they rise, 113. 

Who says that fictions onely and false hair, 49. 

Why do I languish thus, drooping and dull, 316. 

With sick and famisht eyes, 356. 

Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, 366. 



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